


They'll Never Know

by voodoo_smile



Category: Indie Music RPF, Music RPF, Pop Music RPF, Real Person Fiction, Rock Music RPF, The Cure (Band), music and bands
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Porn, Blow Jobs, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, Drunk Sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fanfiction, First Time Blow Jobs, Gratuitous Smut, Hand Jobs, Homophobic Language, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Male Slash, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Shameless Smut, Slash, Smut, The Cure, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-06 17:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 39,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8761933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoo_smile/pseuds/voodoo_smile
Summary: Title is taken from a Fools Dance 12"Rating: Overall rating - multiple chaptersSetting: Simon/Robert, 1979 (Simon's POV)Disclaimer: I do not own The Cure. Everything described in this story is fictional.**A young, confused Simon is in denial.**





	1. They'll Never Know

 

 

 

I honestly had no clue as to just why you came back here after what happened between us the other night. Fuck! You knew exactly how I felt about all of  _that_  business, but it didn't stop you from trying that shit on me, did it? I told you I had no interest in speaking to you anymore, much less about what happened in that alleyway.

And now you're here again, standing in front of me, standing in front of my friends, your cool demeanor totally contradicting what you're feeling inside. No one else would know it to look at you, but I know it. I know you and you're not as aloof and as clever as you think you are.

Now you approach the bar and I can feel that tension as you stand beside me, deliberately brushing past my arm. I can see your face turn in my direction ever so slightly and I know you're watching me from out of the corner of your eye. You're waiting. Waiting for what I'll never know. Certainly hope to fuck you're not waiting for me.

Your mouth opens and then quickly shuts again, as if you want to speak, but just what on earth could you possibly say? 'Oh, so sorry, Simon...So sorry I tried to fuck you.'

Yeah, sure. Thanks a lot, mate.

I take a slug of beer from my bottle and that's when you turn towards me and just stare. I don't even want you looking at me—to be honest, this is getting fucking creepy. I can't believe for the last three years I thought you were my best friend. I can't believe all the times we drank together and sat and talked about things  _alone in your room_. Things I would have never brought up to anyone else, not even to my own girlfriend for fuck's sake—should've known that this was just too good to be true.

I suppose that utter cack line you fed me of "You're my best mate," was just that: cack. And the "you-should-be in-the-group-not-what's-his-name" business was just a bloody ruse to see what you could get from me. I reckon you tried pulling that same rubbish on the previous bloke—whatever the fuck his name was, and failed miserably. Now that I think about it, that's probably the real reason as to why he disappeared so suddenly. I'm not as stupid as you think I am, Robert.

I down the rest of my beer quickly, order another and guzzle that one down as well. I'm starting to sway and my hand steadies me against the bar and at this point, I couldn't give a toss whether you stand there or not. I'm not ready to call it a night yet.

Your eyes are burning into me now—and that look... It's the same look you had plastered on your face weeks ago right before you kissed me.

I feel like laughing in your face and if I wasn't so pissed I would, but now I have to know just why the fuck you keep staring at me, "What the fuck are you looking at?!" I finally slur.

"You." You say quietly.

" _Ha!_ " I snort. It's almost like the room is moving instead of my body. Now I'm looking straight at you and it's exactly what I didn't want to do. I need another beer.

"Well, you can fucking stop," I continue, "I told you to leave me alone." I don't know why I'm even speaking to you about any of this.

"Then why are you still here talking to me?" You ask flatly. 

You're as practical as always and, oh, so bloody confident and my mouth drops open at your unexpected question. Fuck if I know why I'm still here talking to you, of all blokes.

"Bog off! This is my pub!" Brilliant wordsmith that I am, it's all I can manage to blurt out.

"Huh," You huff, "Didn't know you owned the place, Simon." And you take a swig of beer from your pint glass.

Fuck.

"Why don't you just leave?"

"Because..." You say, still as composed as ever, "because I know you don't want me to."

"What the fuck are you on about?!?!"

You finally tear your eyes away from me and look down at the bar, "You don't remember what you said to me?"

"The fuck??? Said? No! I didn't say anything!" My voice is getting louder now.

You nod and a wry smile appears, "Yes, you most certainly did...that night."

Shit! What the fuck did I say?

"What night?!" I'm getting desperate and my eyes sweep unsteadily around the room, but none of my other mates are around to rescue me.

" _That_  night...the night we—"

"Shut up, Robert!" I'm practically screaming now and I don't have a bloody clue as to why. All I know, is I don't want to hear what you have to say.

A group of people at the end of the bar and even the barman are now looking over at us. Fucking brilliant! I should've just left as soon as I saw you.

"Simon—" You've turned to face me again and I can't take this.

"Fuck you!!" I yell, not caring who can hear me now, "I'm out of here!" I just want you to stop, but I know you won't. As I turn around unsteadily and manage to grab my jacket from the stool I feel your hand firmly grasp my arm.

"Get the f-fuck—get the fuck off me!" I pull away from your grip and your eyes widen as I push you back hard into the counter. At that moment, all I want to do is wipe that stunned gape right off your face and I lunge forward, my swing intending to bash you square in the gob, but you dodge my blow and my momentum causes me to lurch forward and I instantly fall to the floor in a heap.

The room begins to spin as I lie there under the bar and I hear and footsteps quickly shuffling and the gruff voice of the barman above.

"Oi! Get him out of here!"

There's more shuffling and from my angle I can only make out more feet surrounding you. You're speaking to someone, but I can only hear bits of what's being said.

"Yeah... No, s'alright I've... no, I've got him." And I can feel your hands roughly trying to pull me up by my arms until I eventually sit up, my head suddenly aching as if I was the one at the receiving end of my punch.

"Simon, let's go. Get up." You command.

And I do.

***

A bloody lorry could've run me over and I probably wouldn't feel it. There are hands on my shoulders and I soon realize it's you who's behind me holding me up as I spew all the beer I've had that evening, along with anything else I've ever eaten for a lifetime, against the wall in front of me.

"Bloody hell, Simon," You chuckle, "You sure that's everything?"

It's not funny.

"Shit." I manage to squeak out as the wave of vomit passes.

"Well, you obviously can't go home." You say, "Not like this. There'd be no end to the lectures."

I nod slowly—you know my family all too well.

"And we can't stay at my house," You continue, "They're still up, and there would be no end to all the questions."

"Uh-huh." I just want to close my eyes.

You hand me a bottle of beer and I reluctantly take it to wash my mouth out, briefly wondering how you got it past those wankers guarding the door.

"The van." You say resolutely.

"Huh? No, Robert."

"Simon. It's the only way."

I don't want to move. I'd be perfectly happy curling up and drifting off right here on top of the cobblestones, but you help me up and I hold onto you as we plod to your green van in the car park across the street. The short walk feels like a fucking marathon and my head drops back against the van and I close my eyes, surprised that I've actually managed to stay upright with no help, but more than likely, it's you that's propped me up, which wouldn't be the first time.

I hear you muttering and there's the sound of empty bottles and cans being tossed about in the back, followed by rustling and then you appear again, a little breathless as you grab hold of my hand.

"Can you get in on your own?" You ask.

"Umm-hmm..." I hum. This is going to be tricky. I lift my one leg into the van as you pull slightly and by some small miracle I step up into the back, immediately falling forward to the floor on my knees. You're still there still holding my hand and I hear your breathy laughter beside me.

"Rob-Robert, s'not funny." And I can't help but laugh at my own stupidity as well.

"Hey, come here." Your voice is gentle and you turn me to face you, slipping my jacket from my shoulders and carelessly throwing it to the side. It's dark, the light from the street lamp is glowing right in line with your face and you're just staring at me again. Maybe I'm entirely too drunk to be sure of what I'm seeing, but I could swear it's that same look as before—the look I shouldn't be seeing.

I need to turn away and I quickly drop my gaze to the floor.

"Wh-are you okay?" Your voice is a soft whisper, it's something I've never heard come from you. We've been through a lot together, you and me: we've helped each other when we were sick, drunk, fought for each other, even cried and held each other as barmy as that sounds, but the  _tone_  in your whisper now... I know I'm not imagining it.

I can barely answer you, but I do, "Yeah...yes." And I feel your hand release mine and come up under my chin and I know what  _that_  means. It couldn't possibly be mistaken for anything else.

As my head slowly rises up under your insistence, my eyes dart everywhere else but into yours.

"Simon," There's that low whisper again, "Look at me, please."

And I have no choice now but to do just that, and when my eyes meet yours, I can't help but notice how blue they are, your dark lashes surrounding them, making them sparkle in this dim light...And then I feel it.  _You_. Your lips are touching mine.

Your hand moves from my chin, softly sweeping over to the side of my face and you hold me there as your lips press harder. I feel you pull away slightly and exhale shakily against my mouth and we kiss again, and from out of nowhere, your other hand comes up around me and clasps my shoulder, then smoothly trails down my side. I can hear an audible groan at that movement and that's when I suddenly realize...that groan came from me.

I stop abruptly and push you away, "I-I... R-Robert you..." I can't even speak. I can't believe this is happening again. I'm going to be sick.

"I...I need to go." I mumble. I'm too drunk to even know what I'm doing, but that's no excuse for what's just happened, is it? I have to leave. Now.

"No-no, don't." You quickly insist nearly breathless, "Sleep."

I'm still sitting up on my knees in a daze, not even certain if this moment is real, and you back well away from me, immediately rummaging about on the seat in front of you.

"Here..." It's an tattered, musty sleeping bag that looks to be about three hundred years old and a threadbare blanket. You unzip the sleeping bag and spread it out across the floor hastily and ball up my jacket, placing it near me for a pillow. You slowly lie on your side facing away from me and pull the blanket up over your shoulder, not saying a word.

I finally sink down onto my side as well and my gaze bores into the opposite wall. My body tenses and I begin to feel the stirrings of a hard-on as I lay beside you now and I wish anything in the world that this wasn't happening, but it is and that's when I hear your hushed voice.

"'Night, Simon."


	2. They'll Never Know

"Simon!" The voice yells from down the hall and my entire body shakes at that booming sound. "Are you planning on getting up any bloody time this year?!"

Knew I'd eventually hear that. No, never actually, but thanks for asking, Dad.

I left the van the next morning right before daylight, quickly and silently, with one of the worst hangovers ever—my head was pounding. I didn't even know if you were awake or not before I had gone, and to be honest, I certainly didn't want to find out.

I managed to get a taxi back here which was a rare event, but considering the state I was in, walking the entire fucking way was not an option. I made it up the stairs, crawled into bed and it's where I've been ever since, oddly enough. That was yesterday morning and if the clock on my bedside table is correct, it's late the next afternoon already. All I know is that I came home and haven't had the nerve to face anyone downstairs...let alone  _you_. I haven't been able to think properly at all, yet, that's all I've been doing; bloody thinking. Thinking about what happened that night and thinking about what I'm going to do now. What we're going to do now.

"Robert's here!" The voice calls again, and I freeze.

This isn't supposed to be happening. I'm just supposed to disappear alone in this room and no one will ever notice. They never notice me anyway, so not much difference there.

I hear footsteps bounding up the stairs and a light knock on the door.

"Y-yeah?" I ask, knowing full well it's you behind that door,  _waiting._

"Simon. It-it's me," A long pause, "Mind if I come in?"

"No." I say and sigh, pulling the blanket up over my chest until its right under my chin.

The door creaks open slowly and there you are smiling sullenly, your hair damp and windblown from the rain outside. Why should I even be noticing that? I clear my throat and my gaze quickly darts over to the window across the room.

"How are you feeling?" You ask.

"Eh, not well." I reply. My gaze is still plastered on the window, "Been ill." I add, which isn't entirely untrue.

"Yeah, your Dad told me." You walk over to the window and stand right in my line of vision.

Brilliant. I can't even fucking avoid you.

"Called a couple of times..." You say.

Why does that not sound quite right to me?

Your gaze drops to the floor, "Wanted to know if you're feeling well enough to practice those songs we talked about a few weeks ago. I mean, the demos sound alright, but they need a bit of work."

Your face snaps up and you're looking right at me now.

"Well, I don't—" And I clear my throat, "I don't know if I'm up for that at the moment, Robert."

I can't even tell you to bugger off, can I?

Your finger traces a small corner of my desk next to you as your head drops again and you continue quietly, almost shyly. It's odd.

"We could go to...um, my place." You say, hesitating a bit, "Everyone's gone for the evening so we can make as much noise as we want. We're also well stocked with beer if you're game." And a small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

I wince at the word beer as I suddenly remember my almost projectile vomiting in the alley from the night before. Normally, that would have worked as bait, but I couldn't even imagine drinking alcohol right now. It's not influencing my decision in the least—I don't know what actually is. I don't know why I'm changing my mind and I find myself saying exactly what I know I shouldn't.

"Um, o-okay." I say quietly.

I'm not supposed to do this. I'm not supposed to see you anymore, but here I am slowly getting out of bed, wearing only my shorts and a t-shirt and I feel your eyes watching me as I stiffly turn around, open my wardrobe and quickly get dressed.


	3. They'll Never Know

I don't know how many times you've called my name in the last minute or so and I haven't answered. My thoughts have drifted once again.

"Simon? Are you still there?" You wave a freshly opened bottle of beer in front of my face and as much as I don't want to drink it, I think at this point I need it.

"Still not feeling well?" You ask, a bit of concern in your voice.

I shake my head in hopes of shaking my thoughts, grab the bottle from your hand and take a drink.

"No-no... No, I'm okay." And I keep my eyes on the floor, staring at absolutely nothing as my mind continues to go over the two most bizarre evenings that I've ever had. The first, being the night in the alley behind the pub when you pinned me up against the wall and kissed me until I was breathless. Was I really too drunk to stop you? Was I even sure of what was happening? It seemed like a drunken, blurry dream until your hand inched down and grabbed my ass... What's even worse is that I don't even recall saying anything to you that night—well, nothing out of the ordinary, anyway. You never even told me exactly  _what_  I said and right now I don't even want to know. And then of course there was the night in your van when it happened again, but miraculously, considering how pissed I was, I quickly came to my senses and broke away, only to lie beside you moments later still drunk with a fucking hard-on.

I'm still trying to figure this all out and I'm beginning to question my own sanity, even our friendship. It's making me feel like such a wanker, and I'm left to wonder more and more if you're really just taking the piss.

I quickly drain my beer and put it down on the floor as I stand from the chair.

"I need-need to go." I say dully. I can't even look at you right now as my blood begins to boil.

 _"What???"_  You say, shocked. "But we just got here."

"Yeah, well..." And I notice my voice growing with agitation. I sigh and grapple for an excuse for my growing resentment, "I-I'm still feeling a bit knackered is all."

"Simon, are...?" You start, but then quickly relent, "Okay." Your voice is quiet and the disappointment has clearly risen to the surface, "See you tomorrow, then?" You ask cautiously.

I huff unintentionally. I've got to leave it out, but can't manage to hold my tongue, "Don't think so." I say firmly.

You don't say a word, but as I turn to grab my jacket from the back of the chair, I suddenly feel your hand on my arm and I flinch. I don't want you touching me, and for some reason I can't move—it's as though my feet are permanently rooted to the floor.

"Robert," I whisper in frustration, not meaning for it to come out that way, "Please, leave me alone. Please..." My eyes close and I don't know why I'm saying any of this. My true self would've punched you in the face right about now, followed by me walking out of your house for the last time and I don't know why I'm not.

"Si, what-what's wrong?" You've called me by that name you've always called me when we're alone watching a match on the telly, drinking together, or going over songs when no one else is around, or even much like how we are at this moment: just the two of us messing about. That name has never bothered me in the slightest in the past, but now I can't bear to hear it fall from your lips.

"Don't, Robert." I say quietly, my eyes still closed.

I move my arm away roughly from your grip and your hand falls away and when I finally raise my eyes to you standing across from me, you're just glaring at me.

I turn in the direction of the front door and begin walking over to it when I feel you pull me back by my shoulder this time, completely catching me off guard and I whirl around to face you.

 _"What the fuck is your problem?!?!?!"_  I shout in your face.

"I need to know if what you said to me behind the pub was true." You say quickly, blurting out your words in desperation—and it's so unlike you, "I need to know, Simon." You clear your throat, and though your voice seems to waver, your eyes don't leave mine.

I'm the first to look away... in anger. Not entirely at you, mostly at myself—at everything. Guess this is what I get for being such a pisshead tosser.

 _"What?!"_  I demand, my voice rising with frustration, "I was drunk, Robert! What did I say that's so fucking horrible?! Just fucking tell me! Christ!!!"

You move away from me now and back up against the wall behind and look down as you attempt to say what I don't want to hear.

"You said," Your gaze remains on the floor in front of you, "You said that you...loved me."

I quickly reply in frustration, "I-well,  _you know that!_  Of course I do. We've told each other that...ages ago."

Thinking about it all now, it all seems so wrong and in some strange way it was never the same as it is with my other mates. Not even my brothers.

"No, Simon." You look up at me and shake your head slowly, "It wasn't like that at all. This was different." Your eyes are huge. You're obviously waiting for me to say something, but what? Should I even believe you? Should I tell you it was nothing more than my drunken ramblings? Would you really believe me? Would I really believe myself at this point? Or should I tell you it's all true. 'I love you'. Like  _that_.

I look down at the floor and the carpet begins to blur as I feel tears begin to burn at the corners of my eyes and I can't believe this is happening. I've never felt the slightest bit attracted to another bloke, but that's not what this is, is it? It can't be, but then I think back to the way you were looking at me in your van that night and you kissing me. Did I really seem to mind? I can't even answer that. I don't want to.

You and I have been almost inseparable. Carol has even teased me about it to the point where once it really got my back up and I ended up storming out of her house. I didn't want to hear it. But if we were only just mates, why would that simple taunt disturb me so bloody much? I can't answer that either.

I just always thought that we were best mates. I mean, it's not as if we're like  _that_. As far as I know I've only ever seen you with your girlfriend, much the same as me. We've only ever been with birds...

It seems that the only thing I'm certain of at this point is that it's taken only an instant to muck up a friendship I've had for years. There's no way to change what's happened between us. It's done and it's probably all my fault. I shouldn't drink so much, should I?

"I-I don't know what you're talking about." It's all I can think of to mumble aloud, and my voice is so quiet that I doubt you can even hear me. I hope you didn't, and my hand comes up to wipe the wetness that's started to well up around the corners of my eyes.

 _"What?"_  You whisper, the shock so clearly heard in your voice, "You don't-don't you believe me?"

"Not at all..." I can't quite believe I've said that.

"Simon." You reach out to me and I quickly move away.

"Robert, stop!" I say loudly— _very loudly_ , "Don't touch me anymore!"

I've never said those words to another bloke, but something like this has never happened between me and another bloke. Guess it bloody well is now, though. Why did it have to be  _you_ , of all people?

My gaze lifts only for a moment and yours snaps quickly to the floor, the hurt and dejection on your face now so plain...I knew it would only spell trouble coming here.

I have to say something to end this and that quickly I'm headed for the door.

"I have to go and don't...don't call me." I add, mumbling as I slam it behind me.

AImost immediately it occurs to me that you're close behind; I hear your footsteps quickly catching up as I make my way to the pavement, and then I stop abruptly.

"Robert, get away!" I shout, "I can't do this!" And as soon as those words exit my gob I cringe, it sounds so fucking wrong. We're two blokes. We're just...we're supposed to be friends, so why does it sound like I'm breaking up with you?

I continue trudging along quickly, trying to escape, but you won't stop. You keep up with me all the same.

"Simon. Stop..." You're begging, but why should you care if I'm gone for good or not? It would only be one less friend of many for you, I reckon. Friends come and go, so why is this such a big deal to you? I've always wondered why you chose me as your best mate anyway, when you could have done much better.

"What is it?!?!" I stop and turn to face you finally, "What do you want from me, Robert?  _Jesus fucking Christ!!"_  By now I'm sure the entire block can hear me. Brilliant.

I suddenly feel the front of my shirt being pulled forward into you and you kiss me hard. I can't even breathe and I'm scrambling. Scrambling to get away from your kiss at first, but then just like that I realize I'm kissing you back. I can feel your tongue licking at my lips and I tremble at that sensation only to find myself opening my mouth, knowing what will soon come after and that's when your tongue quickly slides inside, your sigh turning into a moan as I finally pull away, pushing you back.

I'm breathless and at this point my mind is a jumbled mess. My eyes open and dart up to you, the light skin of your cheeks now flushed and your chest heaves slightly with your own breathlessness. I've got to look away, but I can't. I just keep staring at you and I don't know why.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, "Wh-why did you do that?" I ask, barely able to speak.

After a long silence you finally answer, "Because I knew..." And you lick your lips slowly, "I knew you wanted me to."

Now I feel it; drops of rain hitting my skin and the beginnings of a hard-on once again as we both stand before each other with mouths agape. The rain is beginning to fall harder and I can feel the wetness soaking through my t-shirt. The longer we stand here the more soaked and miserable we'll end up being and the more I'm going to have to say something and I just don't know if I can.

I turn away from you and begin my long walk home in the rain. I've no other choice.

"Simon!" You call to me.

Fuck.

"I-I can give you a ride home."

"No." I say, and begin walking in the road and I can barely hear you over the downpour as you call to me again.

"Don't be fucking daft! It's a 13 kilometer walk at the very least...and in the bloody rain?!"

I stop in my tracks and suddenly realize that it would take me at least two hours to walk home, never mind the blasted rain.

"Yeah, I guess..." I can't even finish my sentence. I'm trapped, even if I wanted to call a taxi, I'd have to actually get to a fucking phone which wouldn't be until I'd made it to the center of town—another 3 kilometers, at least.


	4. They'll Never Know

I'm dripping wet. We're both dripping wet and I stand on the small carpet directly in front of the door, taking care not to let the water pool on the floor as you rummage about on the phone table for your keys.

"Shit," You mutter with your back to me, "Just where did I put the bleeding things?"

You're dripping everywhere, all over the table, the phone, the floor...

"Oh, I don't—sod it." You finally give up and turn to face me, running your hands through your soaked hair, spraying water on the wall behind you and damn near everywhere else. You chuckle and your eyes seem to gleam in the dim light of the foyer that shines from above.

"I need a towel." You smile and you seem to look me over as I shift uncomfortably on my feet, not uttering a sound, "Suppose we both do." You say as you turn and walk down the hall. Should I follow you? I want to, but wisely push that rogue thought from my mind and so remain motionless, standing on that same small, square of carpet right where you left me. You disappear only momentarily and return with two large towels in hand. I wordlessly take one, close my eyes and swab my wet hair, moving the towel down to my arms, slowly wiping them down, avoiding you as I keep my now open eyes focused on the task at hand.  _Your_  eyes however, haven't left me the entire time. I don't dare look over at you to confirm this, but I feel your gaze burning into me, nonetheless.

I'm still occupying myself with drying off until I hear a rustling that sounds like a towel has been dropped to the floor. I look up and you grin shyly and I can see your cheeks begin to change to a rosy pink. You're blushing now.

"Uh," You mutter quietly, "Can't seem to find my keys." And you let out a throaty chuckle. "Maybe they're in the other room..."

You're looking at me again with same look from the other night and your eyes now dart over my face and sweep down to my chest. You slowly lick your lips and I quickly discover that I'm breathing fast in short bursts and I'm trying so hard to not let you notice, but know I've failed when your body leans forward and your arm reaches out, your hand settling on the wall directly behind my head. The side of your face is inches from mine, and I can't seem to move as I hear your rapid yet shallow breathing practically against my ear.

The unexpected loud click of the foyer light being turned off by you behind me startles me for a moment, and I breathe in deep as we're plunged into darkness. You haven't moved. Neither of us have and I begin to hear our breathing grow louder. Seconds later, your mouth slowly opens and I feel your breath in my ear sending a shiver down my spine.

"Simon..." Your shaking whisper hesitates and you let out the softest groan that no one else in the world could hear, exhaling so long and hard that my cock stirs. Your other hand comes up and squeezes my shoulder and I feel your damp lips now kiss my ear so lightly that I sigh. I know you heard that. I can't hide anything at this point. I don't think either of us can. Your hand moves to my face turning it and your mouth captures mine in a gentle, trembling kiss until your tongue catches me off guard and pushes past my slightly parted lips and mingles with mine. I can taste you, and I feel your low moan in my mouth as you move deeper into the kiss, pushing me back into the door. I don't know what this is, but whatever it is, it's happening much too fast.

I break away and my chest is heaving and I'm trying not to look at you, but the way your eyes glare back at me... It's making me lose all concentration, and I'm so fucking hard right now I can barely speak.

"Rob-Robert. No. We-we..." I whisper, incapable of collecting my bloody thoughts, "I don't know what-what's going—"

"Shhhh," You quickly hush me and take my face into your hands, "No one will ever know." And you kiss my forehead, "Shhh, no one..." You repeat, and lightly kiss my closed eyes until finally moving down to my mouth that's just hanging open in amazement more than anything else, and your firm, soft lips finally kiss me again hard and hungry before you move away, and it takes me by surprise. I don't want you to stop, and I look up at you in confusion until you offer your hand to me. I immediately take it and, Christ, I know what  _that_  means and at this very moment, I don't care. I can't stop myself, and I let you lead me into the den.

You sit on the sofa and look up and I can see that you've become aroused as the bulge in your trousers is more than obvious. It's actually more than what I'd originally imagined, and then it suddenly occurs to me that I'd secretly fancied a look at your cock for God knows how long—perhaps since the moment I met you.

I shake my head and look away. I shouldn't even be here. I should be shagging my girlfriend, not contemplating touching your dick on the sofa.  
  
There's nothing I can do but pull my hand away from yours, but you tighten your grip and pull me gently towards you. I pull back in the opposite direction and you tug yet again, finally succeeding and I plunk down next to you. Not much of a struggle put up by me, was there? I feel like crying right about now, but I have to hold back. I can't even be a man about this, can I? I'm such a fuckin' poofter.

"Simon." You say. Your voice so breathy, and the way you're looking at me again with your arm wrapped round my waist, pulling me into you...and it's slowly undoing me. "Hey, what is it?"

I almost want to laugh obnoxiously loud in your face. How can you ask me that question?

But it's far too late. We both know I've lost this battle. Your eyes, a brilliant blue, even in this dreary light—they've always seemed to look right through me to the depths of my wretched, fucking soul. They know what I want, perhaps even before I've finally realized it myself.

***      ***     ***

Your face is a blur as it comes closer and your mouth suddenly captures mine and before I know it, our kiss is long and deep. My hand comes up and settles on your neck and my fingers are rubbing, almost pulling at your damp hair as they inch up further. I know exactly what I'm doing, but I can't seem to stop myself and I moan as your hands now roam up under my wet t-shirt and slide over my damp skin. Your fingers are pressing into me, and my cock springs to life once again as I feel your fingers grabbing onto my flesh, moving everywhere under my shirt as we continue to kiss, and I just can't stop the loud groan that exits my mouth as your tongue moves in deep, almost down my throat—I can barely breathe.

You're hands suddenly slide out from underneath my shirt and you grab hold of my other hand that's just been hanging there and you slide it under your un-tucked shirt and that's when I see your eyes shut tightly and you nearly jump at the feeling of my palm against your skin. You clutch at my waist pushing me down on my back on to the sofa and in one rapid movement you unbutton your shirt and then pull mine upwards, under my chin. You press your chest to mine and you nearly lay on top of me.

You open your mouth to speak and your whisper turns into a soft groan, and you kiss me again quickly. Whatever you were planning to say somehow doesn't come out—at least, not the way you would normally say something. But then you wouldn't normally say what I think you're going to say to me, and  _this_  isn't normal, is it? And then I feel it: like a bolt out of the blue, your hand is on my cock and I can't help but let out a frantic sound from deep within my throat at that feeling. My head drops back and you begin to squeeze and it's all I can do to keep myself from coming in my jeans.

You're trying to speak again and I can hardly hear what you're saying to me, "Can I..." And you moan as your hand continues to move, squeezing lightly, "Can I toss you off?" Your voice is low and wanton as you kiss my neck and breathe into my shoulder. It's as if you'll stop at nothing to get your hands on me, and I'm letting this happen.

I can't even answer you. All I can do is nod and open my eyes and what I end up seeing poised over me makes my heart jump into my throat. Your eyes: still such a beautiful, brilliant blue are burning into me now. No one has ever looked at me like that and I don't know what it is, but I swear they could make me melt away right here beneath you, and my cock now throbs as I feel you pull down my zipper and you slide your hand inside.

"Ohhh..." I can't stop, "Rob-Robert, fuck!" I whimper, helplessly. I've never felt anything like your touch. Not even Carol's hand could reduce me to a simpering mess on the verge of coming, like I am now, and I take a long, deep breath. I suddenly feel you stop and both hands are pulling my jeans down further on my hips and your hand is back on me again, and you begin to stroke so slowly...only stopping momentarily to feel me entirely, even moving down to my thighs, making me want your hand where it was before on my hardness even more, before stroking me again.

"No." I moan. I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe this feels so fucking good. I know I'm going to come all over the place, all over your hand... and I shudder at that thought as you pick up speed. You're now breathing in my ear, kissing my neck and licking at my skin...

...I hear female voices as if they're off in the distance growing closer, followed by light footsteps running up the staircase and I suddenly realize just where I am.

Janet and Rita?  _No._

A door slams.

"Robert?" A male voice calls.  
_  
Fuck!!!_

You move quick as a flash up and off my body and grab the blanket from the back of the sofa, draping it over us both. The doors to the den are wide open, but it's not like you couldn't see through the glass panes of the doors anyway, even if they were closed.

We're fucking pinched for sure.

"Robert?" Alex's voice calls again, and his footsteps approach the doorway.

We're both holding our breath and at last you clear your throat, run your hand through your hair and exhale heavily to compose yourself. My fly is still open and my todger's still as hard as a rock and I don't dare move.

"I-uh, yeah, Dad?" You say, barely able to speak and you lift yourself up slightly off the cushions and you flinch as your hand rests in your lap on top of your erection, keeping the blanket in place. You turn your head slowly and peer over the back of the sofa meeting your father's gaze and I thank Christ this piece of furniture is facing away from him.

"Oh, there you are." And then a small laugh, "Don't know how you can see anything at all in there—might as well be sitting in the dark."

My head immediately snaps over to the small lamp on the table by the telly and my mind fills with dread beyond all fucking belief. All I can do is close my eyes and pray that he doesn't come in here to turn on the other lamp.

Your eyes instantly flash over to me as you continue to speak.

"W-well," And you pause, grasping for something to say, "Thought best to keep it dark. Simon's here and well, he's a bit pissed this evening so, not feeling well at the moment."

Of course, just blame it all on me! Cheers mate! Wouldn't be the first time I've stayed at your house after a late night piss-up, anyway. Alex must think I'm a right, sad plonker by now.

All I can think of to do is mutter a pitiful, "Hey-ho, Mr. S." not even showing my face from over the sofa.

"Ah, right. Simon..." Alex snickers, "Should've known. No wonder most of the beer's gone! He can stay tonight. Did you have any supper?"

You roll your eyes, wishing this conversation would end. You have no idea.

"No. No, I'm fine. We're fine."

"Right, carry on. Your mother and I are going up. Goodnight."

"Dad," You call, "Would you mind just shutting the doors? Need quiet...'Night."

The doors shut softly and you turn to me and laugh your breathy laugh.

Don't know why you're even laughing at a time like this. It's not funny and I have to tell you so.

"Robert," I say quietly, "It-it's not fucking funny. I mean, we could've been—"

And you slide over towards me and kiss my cheek lightly.

"Everyone's asleep. It's just us now." You say, trying to reassure me and before I even realize it, your hand is under the blanket, right back on my cock where it was moments before. I'm still hard and just like that, I quickly I moan out loud and twitch in your grasp. You've shifted and you're kissing me now—softly at first, but it almost feels like you're losing control as you jam your tongue down my throat once again, and moan into my mouth and I'm not stopping you in the slightest. I feel the blanket slide off our bodies and fall to the floor, and for a moment I panic as we're now fully exposed, but you don't seem to care, and as it turns out, I don't so much either.  
  
Your mouth moves away from me and begins to trail down my neck, moving down further as your soft, wet lips leave little kisses on my chest, and you begin to stroke me once again. My eyes are clamped shut and I'm moaning and only moments later, from out of nowhere I feel your warm breath near the head of my cock and your lips touch my tip, so very, very lightly and you give me a small, slow suck and it's all I can stand.

"Ohhh.. ohh, fucking Christ!" I try to keep quiet, but it's no use. I know I'm going to come hard and I can feel my body convulse as I latch onto you and I suddenly explode. Your other hand quickly comes up and you place it over my mouth to stifle my cry as my cock spurts come all over your bare chest, your hand, and everywhere else. I tremble and desperately try to suck in air and you remove your hand from my mouth, placing it in my hair, rubbing the side of my face softly as the last of my orgasm leaves me. You rest your head in the crook of my neck and we sit in silence for a few moments until our breathing slows.

My mind can't even register any of this properly. All I know is that I've just received the best hand job I've ever had in my life from  _you_. How is this possible?

You take a breath and I hear you sigh, "Do you know how beautiful you looked... just now?"

"N-no. I..." I'm hoping that's not a question that needs answering because I can't think of a single fucking word to say to that. I've never come all over my best friend before now. I've never come like that all over anyone, for that matter.  
  
I still can't open my eyes, and I hear rustling and the sofa shifts under your weight. When I finally do open them, you're sitting up wiping my come off your bare chest and your hand with the blanket, then slowly buttoning your shirt. I can see your hands are shaking just a bit and I know you've still got to be hard. You're probably expecting something in return, but I can't. I just can't. I'm terrified.

Now what?

I zip up, pull my shirt down and lay on my side, pulling the soiled blanket up over my body and I finally look over at you. The disappointment on your face is clear and I feel like such a selfish twat. I slide into the back of the cushions even further to make room for you.

You smile, eyeing the space in front of me and ask, "D'you mind? Just for a few..." I honestly don't mind, but know you won't stay for long. The rest of the Smiths will most certainly be down here in the morning and wouldn't that just be a kick in the arse to see their son and his best mate nestled down together?

 

 


	5. They'll Never Know

I left your house early that morning, sneaking out while it was still dark out as if I'd committed some crime. I made it home on foot in a little under two hours, giving me plenty of time to think about everything and as soon as I made it through the door, I went straight up to bed, utterly exhausted.

You've tried phoning me often, sometimes twice in one day, but I'm never home—at least that's what I instruct whoever picks up the phone to tell you.

I know I should face you, but I won't. Doesn't mean I've stopped thinking of us—of you­—in the slightest, even when I'm with Carol, which is more than usual lately. I won't let her touch me anymore either. I can't.

Instead, most nights when I'm really plastered, but can still manage an erection, I'd simply rather go home and have a toss whilst thinking of you. Your face, those eyes—burning into me as your hands are on my body, on my cock, finally finishing me off by sucking my head... and I come so hard I can't help but moan loudly into the darkness alone, hoping no one hears me—as if they would even know who I'm wanking off to. I'm pathetic.

It's fucking maddening, all of this. I'm turning into a full blown nutter and all I can do to stop it is just drink more—more than most nights, anyway. But then I always end up thinking back to all the times I drank with you; we laughed, played music, we talked...about us, about the world.  _Everything_. Now it's not like that at all. I'm miserable and I find myself hiding in dark corners, my anger lurking, always simmering just below the surface.

***      ***      ***

I reach the top step.

"Simon?" Carol asks. She's not laughing anymore. There's genuine concern in her voice now, "Can you make the last step?"

Thought it was the last step. Fuck.

"Yeah," I barely mutter back. I don't even know why I wanted to come here at all tonight. Did I want to come here? As I take what I have been informed of as being the last step, I literally stumble, bashing myself straight into the front door. I'm also apparently quite drunk.

"Are you okay?" She keeps asking me that.

" _Yes, I'm fucking okay!"_  I growl loudly.

There's nervous laughter at my outburst and I cringe. I couldn't be a bigger dickhead and I just don't know why she puts up with my shit. I certainly wouldn't.

I push past her and a handful of strangers, finally making it through to the living room where the music is blaring and crowds of people, most of which I've never met, only seen at Lockjaw and Cure gigs, fill the room.

The Cure. Lol.  _Robert._

Shit.

Before I even have a chance to curse at my own stupidity for showing my face here, Lol spots me and approaches. I've got to leave.

"Simon." He says, smiling, "Where have you been hiding out, you bastard? Haven't seen you down the pub in ages."

No shit.

"Well, been-been busy. Yeah..." I slur. Ha! With what, exactly? And I have to ask myself that again as I stand there like a twat. I just know he's going to probe further and start asking about the group and if I've accepted your offer to play bass on the new material or not.

I need a drink and cigarette, "Lol, can I have a fag?" He offers his pack and lighter. I take one and light it, my body swaying slightly as I try and steady myself, "Where's the drinks?"

"Ah, kitchen, mate."

"Right..."

I stumble into the room and realize I've lost Carol. She's my ride home and if I really want to get the hell out of here after I've had my free drink I have to find her now, but I can hardly put one foot in front of the other.

I throw my cigarette into the sink, grab a bottle of vodka from the table and as I turn to make my somewhat clumsy exit, it's right then that I hear a familiar, quiet voice from behind.

"Can you bring that bottle back here?"

My head spins even more than it is already, and I hear shuffling footsteps come closer. I don't dare look back, but there's no mistake—I know it's you. My eyes slowly close and my stomach churns and I just stand their motionless at the sound of your voice. Well, as motionless as someone in my condition could be, apart from the swaying.

"Simon, bring that bottle back." And just the way you say my name—the way you speak to me sounds nothing like before. Now your tone is cold and flat. It's as if you're speaking to a complete stranger. Actually, you'd speak to a stranger better than the way you're speaking to me, but why should I expect anything more? I'm the one who's basically cocked up what was left of our friendship, or whatever you want to bloody call it.

I'm still standing with my back to you when I feel the bottle being pulled from my hand and I tighten my grip and don't let go.

"Piss off." I growl low, and I really wish you would. I open my eyes and keep them glued to the floor as I give the bottle a tug back towards me, and that's when I can feel you immediately yank it back, hard.

"Just where the fuck do you think you're going with this?" You ask, your voice still quiet, yet brimming with bitterness.

"What the hell do you care?" I snap, and when I turn round at last, I regret it. You're thoroughly drunk, maybe as drunk as I am. Don't know for sure though because you were never quite as wonky as me when completely trashed, so it's hard to tell.

You're looking at me and straight away I notice your eyes, and just like always, they pull me in, but they're unmistakably peculiar tonight. No more brilliant blue—they're just faded and distant.

"I bought the bloody thing." Your voice is hushed and your icy glare cuts straight through me, " _It's mine._ Give it back."

"Not bloody likely." I growl again, but you're still standing there...we're still standing there in the middle of this tiny, grotty kitchen, both still clutching the bottle, both tense, and both staring each other down.

I finally muster the nerve to speak up, "Doesn't have your fucking name on it, so finder's keeper's...eh, mate?"

Have no idea why I felt compelled to add that last bit and just as I'd thought, clever as ever, even rat-arsed, you don't let it slip by.

"Bollocks." You say, "And I'm not  _your mate_." The malice in your voice is more than obvious, and by now it feels as if we're the only two blokes in the entire house.

I haven't moved, but you've inched closer without me even realizing it at first, and that's when I feel one of your fingers touch my hand on the bottle. It startles me and I flinch, immediately loosening my grip and you quickly seize the opportunity and pry the bottle roughly from my hand.

Nice work you bastard. Bet you're chuffed to fucking bits.

"Fuck." I mutter.

You exhale in disgust, and I can see from out of the corner of my eye a smug grin spread across your face just before you take a drink from the bottle, and moments later your grumble is all I hear from behind me.

"Go fuck yourself... _you little shit."_

My eyes close tightly and there's a lump in my throat and I just can't listen to you anymore. Not like this. I suddenly turn round and let out a growl as I lurch forward, my fist colliding with the middle of your back and I punch you...hard. You instantly fly forward and into the wall face first, the bottle smashing on the tile floor. I don't even want to realize what I've just done as you huddle in the corner on your hands and knees, and for some mad reason, I wish I could just hold my hand out for you to take to help you instead, but I can't.

I hear some blokes behind us in the doorway noisily approach and push me aside as they dodge broken glass and spilt vodka to make their way over to you.

"Cor! Simon?!" I don't even know the tall, lanky bloke that's helping you up, or how he could possibly know my name, but he does.

The other bloke now has his hands on me, on my arms, and he's pushing me backwards out of the kitchen. He's yelling in my face, but my mind doesn't even register what he's saying as my eyes are still fixed on you leaning against the wall bent over with your head down, hands on your knees trying to catch your breath.

"...this nutter the fuck out of here!" I hear more yelling. A small crowd has gathered now, most of them yelling at me, pushing and pulling, and then punches are being thrown between blokes around me. My eyes wildly scan the room, but I'm disorientated and I can't seem to find the front door. I feel another bloke come round the back of me and he's pushing me forward and I realize I'm not going anywhere as I'm now being buffeted between two tossers in the living room. This is bloody mental.

"Simon?! Simon!!" It's Carol's voice and she's practically screaming. I feel her pulling at me, at my shirt, and I can feel the sleeve begin to rip at the shoulder. Finally, some of the bastards realize there's a bird in the mix and move away, thank Christ. She continues to pull on my nearly torn sleeve as we burst through the front door and out of that house.

I stumble down to the pavement, having no idea where I'm going, hoping it's in the direction of my house. I just need to walk, or rather, stagger home, whichever way that is.

"Simon!!" Carol is breathless behind me and nearly hysterical. Knew I wouldn't be getting out of this easy. Why should I anyway? I still can't believe that my own  _girlfriend_  pulled me out of a punch-up that I bloody started. Just an utterly gallant fucker, I am.

I finally stop and turn to look and she's crying, barely able to catch her breath—the disgust and disappointment that shoots from her eyes is unmistakable, and I just stand there slack-jawed and much to my surprise, still drunk. There's nothing more to be done now—done it already, I reckon, and I just want to top myself right here. I really do.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!?!?!" She sobs loudly, "You-you fucking...!!" She jumps forward and slaps me right across the face and it does sting a bit, though I wish she'd hit me harder. I can't look at her again and before I realize it, she's reached her car as I hear it start and she quickly puts it in gear and roars away down the street without me.

I can feel tears stinging in the corners of my eyes and a frustration that makes my chest ache. I don't know who I should be thinking of at this point. Suppose I should feel horrible that Carol's left me, but I don't feel as bad about that as I should. I feel worse about hitting you, and all I can see in my mind is you against that wall, struggling to catch your breath and I tremble. I'm going to be sick...and that's when I drop to my knees and do just that.


	6. They'll Never Know

I slam down the receiver quickly and thank Christ I've come to my senses, hanging up just in time before you or anyone else has answered.

It's the third time in two days I've attempted to ring you. I can't seem to stop myself from dialing your number, but then I never seem to follow through. It's all I've thought about and now I'm delirious due to lack of sleep. Must be why I can't think straight anymore—I just need proper sleep, but every time I close my eyes I think of the awful night in that kitchen and just the utterly gob smacked look on your face after you've had the wind knocked out of you by me. It's enough to keep my mind swirling.

That and the odd, inexplicable episode that happened on your sofa weeks before, which I still pleasure myself to—the feeling of your hand on my cock, your eyes burning into me as you watch me come all over your chest, your hand... _Fuck_. I'm getting hard again as I lie in bed just thinking about it. I can't take this. I should be thinking of Carol instead. I should be acting like a real fucking boyfriend and call to beg her forgiveness after being such a lousy bastard. What's wrong with me?

I turn on my side and the phone rings, shaking me from my thoughts and my stirring cock. I stare at the receiver, not wanting to pick it up, but I'm the only one home  _and what if it's you._

My hand quickly reaches down to the floor and I pick it up, "Hello." I say and hold my breath, terrified.

"Simon?" It's Carol.

Shit.

"H-hi." I say.

"Hello." There's a long pause. She's waiting.

So, I just come out and say it, "I'm-I'm sorry 'bout the other night." I honestly can't think of anything to add that could possibly redeem me.

"I-I need to talk to you." She sounds so frustrated and I can't blame her. I am as well, but it's nothing to do with her, "Simon, is everything okay?"

I don't utter a word.

"I mean, you've been...things between us haven't been the same lately, and it's—well...this whole thing with Robert..."

Fuck. I want to tell her to stop right now, but I'm afraid if I do I'll say something I'll regret.

"Ever since you two have stopped speaking, I've just...you just seem so miserable." She pauses and sniffs, "And everything just seems so different. I mean..." I can hear her begin to sob on the other end, "You're always drinking so much. We never talk. It's like I'm sitting next to a stranger. You won't even let me touch you anymore and-and I just—"

"Fuck!" I interject, agitated, "Just what are you on about?!" I've opened my big gob once again, and quite rudely. Brilliant.

 _"What???"_  She asks quietly, her voice shaking and shrinking as if I've beaten her down.

I sigh and try to calm myself, "Look, noth-nothing is  _wrong_. Okay? So just leave it, Carol...for Chrissake!"

I'm such an asshole.

"Simon, I—"

"Nothing is wrong." I say again, firmly. "I'm sorry for being such a—I'm sorry for what I did the other night. I just haven't been feeling well lately, is all."

I'm trying to reassure her, but of what exactly? That I'm a total wanker? Doing a smashing job of that.

"Listen," I say, trying to keep myself together, "I've got to go. I'll give you a ring tomorrow okay?" I try to soften up, try to convince her that everything is alright, but we both know that's not true.

"Simon?" She says quickly, just before I dismiss this entire conversation.

"Yes?"

"Please, try and talk to him...to Robert. This all seems so silly. I'm sure that whatever's happened—whatever you had a falling out over, it's nothing that couldn't be fixed, right?"

I can't even quite believe what's happened, so how on earth could I ever tell her?

"I-I don't...I can't talk about this right now."

"Maybe if you just try?" and she's begging me now so sweetly.

"Maybe." I relent, my voice drifting off. I can't talk anymore, I feel like punching the wall instead.

"Okay, talk to you soon, then?" She asks softly.

"Yeah. Bye." I drop the receiver carelessly down on the phone and turn, placing the pillow over my head and wonder just how much longer I can hide out here alone.

***      ***       ***

I ground out my fag under my foot and ring the buzzer. No one answers and I'm beginning to think that this wasn't such a clever idea, after all. I feel as if I'm desperate and maybe I am just a bit though, aren't I? Why else would I have walked all the bleeding way here, and why else would I be ringing your buzzer, yet again?

Should just turn round and go back home, but instead I get the brilliant idea to try the door handle. It's unlocked and when I push the door open a bit to peer inside Rita spots me as she's hoovering in the living room—no wonder no one's heard me. She smiles and waves me in, and before I can even ask if you're home she yells over the noise.

"He's upstairs, love! Go on."

I quickly step by her, trudge up the staircase and reach the landing where your closed bedroom door looms at the end of the hall. I can do nothing but stand before it as a feeling of dread quickly starts to set in—now I don't know whether to knock or simply run away. I cautiously put my ear to the door, but don't hear anything at all. You can't still be asleep, it's nearly half past one.

I shut my eyes, lift my hand and knock reluctantly as if the fucking thing would crumble if I rapped too hard. There's no response at first and then after a long moment some rustling, then you answer at last.

"Mum, not now. Please... I'm busy." You say, sounding mildly annoyed, your voice muffled from behind the door.

"Robert." I clear my throat.

Not a bloody sound.

"Robert, it-it's me," As if you couldn't tell, "May I come in?" I ask timidly.

You finally mumble a yes and I open the door, step inside, then shut it softly, remaining near the exit as I have no idea what to expect. My eyes adjust to the light that pours through the parted curtains and you're sitting on the floor with your legs crossed, surrounded by endless sheets of paper with your unmistakable, messy scrawl all over them. Your acoustic guitar is by your side on the floor and you're clad in only a grey t-shirt and boxers. Your head is down and you're looking at your hands folded stiffly in your lap.

Your eyes briefly flash up to meet mine, and it's then that I can only swallow hard at the unexpected sight of you; your dark hair is rumpled, as if you'd just got out of bed, or maybe it's just that you've been up all night. Something's not quite right—you look peaky and your eyes are red and swollen. Either you've been crying or drinking, or perhaps both, but I don't see any bottles of beer or liquor strewn about.

I have to sit down on the floor next to you and say what should've come out of my mouth weeks ago.

"I-I'm sorry..." I say, adding quietly, "for hitting you."

You don't acknowledge my apology or look at me again either. All I can see is your head bowed and your gaze still fixed on your hands in your lap.

Shit. What I really should say is I really don't know why I'm being such a fucking cunt lately.

"Simon." You whisper, exhaling heavily, "You didn't have to come here, really." You sound so defeated. You've always been the one so full of life and I know I've basically pounded the last bit of it out of you with my fist in that kitchen. I can hear it in your voice and I can clearly see it as I sit beside your hunched form as you continue on quietly. "You don't have to worry about—about me...anymore. I'll leave you alone."

I'm utterly gutted at your words. I can't believe your saying all of this to me. Is this the end? That's not what I want. But it  _is_  what I've wanted, isn't it? I've even told you as much more than once, but I'm not so sure now—don't know if I ever was.

"Wh-what are—?" I cut myself off and suddenly feel a heaviness in my chest like I've never felt before. I can't bloody speak. I feel like I'm being smothered.

You don't move, but I can see your profile, your bottom lip is trembling slightly and your hand immediately comes up to rub the side of your face to hide it. I know you wished I hadn't seen that. I wished I hadn't either.

I don't know what's possessed me, but I suddenly find myself leaning in and I place a small, soft kiss just on the edge of your hair, feeling your body tense up as I do. I pull away slightly and without even thinking about it I move in again, so close I can smell you, and as my lips touch your cheek a low, breathy sound leaves your throat.

You slowly turn your face to mine and when our eyes meet, your sparkling, brilliant blue shows nothing but heartbreak. It's like nothing I've ever seen and I'm utterly gob smacked.

Your words shaking as you whisper them to me, "I've... missed you." And I shudder as I feel your breath gently blowing onto my face. You're waiting, so cautious to move an inch, but I want you to. You must know I want you to.

"I-I'm..." My voice trails off to nothing but a mere breath. Whatever I tried to say has completely escaped my muddled mind, and I feel the heat from your body as you lean in and your strained exhale against my face is nothing short of dizzying. I have to close my eyes at that feeling, and your lips press softly against mine, almost hesitating and you pull back after only a moment. That's when I really wished you hadn't—your eyes—that look. It's the look I'm beginning to suspect that's only ever been reserved for me, and that realization hits me like a kick in the arse. I suddenly feel light-headed.

Your hand comes up and I feel your index finger slowly and lightly drag over my bottom lip and you whisper to me once again.

"I've missed you." Just the way you whisper those words sends a jolt straight down to my groin. I close my eyes tight and let out a soft groan in utter disbelief at how your very touch, those simple words... your breathy, trembling whisper could make me so fucking hard.

Your hand moves to my neck and you kiss me again and just the feel of your lips against mine... I can do nothing but open my mouth and feel the urgency of your tongue as it slides inside. I tilt my head to allow you to go deeper and this time, there's no hesitation and I instantly let out a low moan. Our mouths are still sealed together as I hear the sounds of paper crinkling beneath my body, and you gradually push me down onto my back.

This cannot be happening in your bloody room on the fucking floor with your family just downstairs, but it is, and what's even worse is, I don't want you to stop, but we have to.

"R-Robert. No. Fuck..." It's almost a whimper, and not very convincing. How can I possibly mean that when my cock is this hard?

You're above me now looking down, trying to catch your breath and your eyes roam my face.

You whisper, "Please."  
  
"Please?" I murmur, "P-please what?" And I don't even know why I asked that. It's so ridiculous, so unnecessary and I swallow, trying to compose myself. I know exactly what you're going to ask and I tremble even before you say the words.

"Put—" You look away for a moment and take in a deep breath, "put your hand on me." You whisper as you exhale.

Fucking hell. My cock is already wet in my jeans.

You kiss me again, hungrily and your hand pulls mine towards your body and then I feel it, your very warm, very hard cock through your thin boxers. You immediately gasp into my mouth at my touch and you press your body to mine, you're almost on top of me and my hand is now rubbing your hard-on through your boxers. I press down lightly, moving down to your balls, squeezing them and you break away, moaning steadily as I continue to rub your cock.

I quickly pull the waistband of your shorts down over your hips, over your ass, until your cock is fully exposed and I grasp it gently. It's so hot and so fucking hard in my hand and I hear you mumble incoherently as I begin to stroke you. I can't quite believe this.

I'm looking at your face as I continue, stopping to feel your balls every so often and your eyes flutter closed and your lips begin to tremble and I move my one hand from your shoulder to the back of your head into your hair and push you down until our mouths meet again—our sloppy, feeble kiss as I toss you off roughly is hardly a kiss at all, but I can tell you don't care.  
  
You're panting and your hands have moved under my shirt. Your palms run over my chest and clutch my sides and you begin to moan my name as I pick up speed. You bury your face in my shoulder as I continue, and I feel as though I'm ready to come myself at just the mere sound of you saying my name. You've never said it that way before—so aroused whilst you're on top of me, your mouth pressing, wetting my shirt.

"Oh, I'm... Christ!" And I suddenly feel your body shudder and then tense, and your come shoots out from your cock onto my hand and onto the front of my shirt as you continue to pant. I gradually slow my movement and take my hand away, wiping it on my shirt and onto the papers scattered nearby, not even thinking twice about what I'm doing.

Your face is still in my shoulder and I feel you still trembling as you lazily kiss my neck. Your hands come up and out from under my shirt, where your fingers find the top button and you begin to unbutton it slowly and I'm not stopping you now. I'm propped up onto my elbows as you kiss my chest, moving your mouth down lower as each button is undone, until you've finally reached the last one and I'm fucking shaking. I feel your lips touch my stomach, your hands following, feeling my skin as they travel down further, opening my shirt to expose my chest and then you stop. You turn your flushed face up to me, and when your eyes meet mine I feel as if I'm literally melting under your gaze. My eyes flutter as I groan helplessly at the feeling of my cock twitching. It's aching, and at this point you don't even have to speak, and you don't, you simply begin to do what I'd hoped for, but could never ask, and I soon feel my zipper being pulled down.

My sigh turns into a groan as I feel you touching my cock, rubbing me and I so desperately want you to toss me off. I want your mouth on me again no matter how briefly, and I can see nothing but the top of your head as you slide down and kiss the tip of my hard-on, just like the last time and I can't breathe.  _Fuck._  It feels even better now and I can't help but let out a long moan at the vision of you licking my cock and the feeling of your tongue on me once again.

"Robert..." Is all I can whimper, and I moan again as your hands pull at the waistband of my jeans, tugging them down and I don't object. I simply lift my trembling hips as you pull them down low on my thighs and then crawl back up to kiss me hungrily. You break away eventually, mumbling something I can't quite make out and then you move back down my body.

God! I'm going to come right here on the fucking floor! I can't believe you're about to give me a fucking blow job in your bedroom with both of us half naked, sprawled on top of your fucking papers.

Your hand is already on my base and I'm nearly in tears. I feel your breath on me so close, and so instantly, the indescribable feeling of your mouth sliding down on my cock completely paralyzes me.

"Oh, shit!" I cry out unintentionally, as your mouth moves back up my length and I bite my bottom lip to keep from crying out again.  
  
God help me, but I've never felt anything like what you're doing to me. No bird, not even Carol, has ever made me feel this fucking hot. The sound... the feeling of your mouth, your soft but firm tongue moving on me... It's like nothing else. I can't stop watching you and just the mere sight of you going down on my cock, stopping to lick me and then sucking me again, sends me over. I can't hold back and I know I'm going to come—right in your mouth.

"Fuck! R-Robert I!-" I don't even get the chance to finish my desperate outburst. All I can do is cling to your shoulders while my body convulses and I come hard into the back of your throat.


	7. They'll Never Know

I'm still on the floor trying to catch my breath, my limbs are still shaking and I seem to recall fuzzily the events that led us to this very moment. Christ, I shouldn't even be thinking right now. I hear the faint sound of creaking floorboards just outside your door and then light footsteps as if they were moving away, and it's enough to knock me out of my fog. Had someone been listening?

"Robert." I say, my eyes still closed. I can't move. I can't even pull up my jeans.

"Hmm?" You utter quietly, as if you just woke up. You're up against my body on your side with your arm draped over my stomach.

"I-who was—" I try to organize my thoughts, "thought I'd heard someone outside your door just now." My voice is just a whisper, but why should I be bothered to care how loud I am now?

"You must be hearing things, Si." You chuckle lightly at my paranoia.

"No-no, I did. I did hear someone."

You rise onto your elbow and look down at me with a dreamy grin and kiss my cheek lightly.

"Rubbish." You say sweetly and stand, pulling on a pair of rumpled trousers and throw on a jumper over your t-shirt. You run your hands through your hair and survey the mess we made which is no worse than what you live with on a daily basis, anyway. You were never the most tidy of blokes.

I'm still sprawled out on top of your papers and you're laughing at me now.

"What's so funny?" I ask and smile as well, pulling my shirt down over my subsiding erection.

I can't imagine what I must look like lying here. I slowly begin to move and hear the crinkling of the paper beneath me and when I attempt to sit up, I find a few sheets sticking to my bum.

"Oh, shit!" I exclaim, and now we're both laughing as I peel them off. I gather them up in my hands, the soiled one included, and hold them out to you, "Uh, S-sorry, Robert." I say quietly, looking down at the floor realizing I've probably ruined your work, but to my surprise, you merely grab the papers, shrug, and throw them into a corner.

I zip myself up and begin to button my shirt, that is, until I look down at your come that's covered the front of it.

"Fucking brilliant!" I mutter, shaking my head.

You look over at me and a slow grin spreads over your face, almost as if you're pleased with yourself.

"You can leave that here." You say, "Rita will take care of it for you. You can wear one of mine."

Rita? Wash this? No one should be touching this shirt, especially your Mum.

"No! Robert." I protest.

"Don't be fucking stupid!" You walk over to your wardrobe and pull out another jumper for me to wear, "Here..." You say as you toss it in my general direction.

I put it on and immediately feel strange. It's like I'm your bloody  _girlfriend_...or something.

"I-I don't think—" I protest again, weakly.

"Si, it's just for now until you get home. No worries."

Yeah, what the bloody hell am I thinking? It's just a jumper.

I wordlessly follow you out of your room like I've done a thousand times before, go down the stairs and we pass through the dining room and enter the kitchen, where Janet is leaning against the counter with a cup of tea in her hands.

"Well, hello Simon." She grins mischievously and her eyes look me up and down, finally stopping at my jumper, "Nice jumper. Isn't that my  _brother's_?"

It's almost as if she's taking the piss out of me, but something about her tone is off. It's quite disturbing and that's when I feel as if I've been gob smacked—my mind flashing back to the sound of footsteps outside of your room. Who knows how long she was listening to us? She could have heard everything, right when we were—but, that can't be possible.

My mouth falls open. I have to say something.

"I-yeah," I'm struggling, "Uh, spilled beer on mi-mine, so needed a fresh one." I stutter and look down at the jumper. I'm absolute shit at lying.

You open the fridge and take a swig of milk from the bottle quickly before defending me, "Since when is it your business to worry about what my friends are wearing?!" You snap at your sister.

"Uh-hmm," Janet sips her tea,  _"Whatever lads..."_  She huffs, looks down and sips her tea again.

"Such a fucking tart." You mumble. You close the fridge, open the back door and we quickly make our escape.

***      ***      ***

I slide into the passenger seat of your car and whilst I'm waiting for you, I feel as if I'm suffocating. I don't even know why I was daft enough to follow you in here, anyway.

I must look a bloody sight because as soon as you're in your seat, as soon as your eyes land on me your smile instantly fades.

"Simon?" You ask, your eyes widen and you're searching my face, "What's wrong?"

"I do-I don't know." I say too quickly, but that's such a bloody lie. I know exactly what's wrong.

"I'm-I feel sick." My voice is shaking and that much is true, I feel like vomiting right here in your fucking car. "I need to go home."

I'm on the verge of tears now and suddenly feel cold and sweaty. I need to get out of here.

"Well," You say quietly, and smile again, "I'm-that's where we're going. I'm taking you home."

"No." I close my eyes and shake my head. I can't let you take me home now, not after what we've done together. It's just not right, "No, I need to walk alone."

I have to clear my mind and as I open the door you lean over and reach for the handle and try pulling it closed, but I knock your arm away.

"Fuck!" I cringe at my own voice as it booms in the tiny space,  _"Stop!"_

I keep my head down and turned away, and my body is just limp and slumped against the door. I don't hear a sound from you, but I know your eyes are on me—I can feel them burning into the side of my head.

Your thin voice cuts through the air and I'm startled at the words that come out of your mouth next.

"I'm sorry, Simon. I'm sorry I make you so fucking... _sick_." Your voice is bitter and getting louder, but what the hell did I expect? Right after we leave your house, right after we've done  _that_ —to each other—I tell you I feel fucking sick. Just brilliant. I feel even worse now and I make the mistake of looking up at you and your eyes are like daggers. 

"I told you I'd leave you alone! Why did—?"

"I-you... _fucking Christ!"_  I blurt out before even realizing and I'm waiting for you to clobber me. If you did at least someone would have the bollocks to just end this.

You're yelling over me now, "I told you I'd leave you alone, Simon! So why then?! Why did you kiss me?!"

I feel like fucking screaming and at this point maybe I am, "I don't...know! I honestly, don't fucking know! It jus-just...happened!"

My hands are shaking, my voice is shaking and my eyes are welling up. I don't know what's happened between us. The only thing that I'm certain of is that I've tossed you off and you just gave me the most incredible blowjob and I've fantasized about you doing that to me for weeks, but why? We're supposed to be best friends. I'm not a poof. It's not supposed to be this way.

You snort lightly and shake your head, "Fuck! Something like this just doesn't  _happen_ , Simon! At least, not for me..."

Just what the fuck do you mean by that?!

My eyes open wide and I'm staring at you now, "Wh-what?!" I can barely get that sound out of my throat.

"I mean...I... _fuck!_  Just, never mind!" You're even more frustrated now and you stop, sit up in your seat and finally compose yourself, "Right. I'm taking you home, and after that, I honestly couldn't give a shit what you do."

***      ***      ***

I didn't even feel like being here tonight and don't know why on God's green fucking earth I agreed to meet them here. Maybe I just needed to prove to myself that I was still fucking sane after what had happened between us, or maybe I just really needed to get out of the house, seeing as my private stash of booze was now non-existent, after all.

Lol spots me immediately and waves me over to his table which is by now crowded with other blokes as well. I order another pint and down it quickly before trudging over to him. I'm well on my way from being buzzed to downright sloshed—even better.

"Hey," I ask dismally, "Did you get it?"

"Nope," Lol takes a drag of his cigarette and eyes me, "Robert says he hasn't seen it. Doesn't have it." He replies simply, and shrugs.

Fucking brilliant. I knew I'd left my bass at your house ages ago but, I certainly wasn't going to be the one to just show up on your doorstep to retrieve it, being the chicken shit that I am.

"Why don't you just ask him your bloody self, Simon?"

Not bloody likely. I don't answer and keep my head down while Lol shakes his head slowly.

"You girls still fighting, then? Shame..." He tuts, and stubs out his cigarette.

"Give us a fag, Lol." I say. I need to change the subject.

"Better start buying your own, mate. Last one."

"Cor! Just give me a fucking cigarette!" I say in frustration. I can't take it.

I need a whiskey too. Actually a few, but wonder if I've even enough cash on me for that and I reach in my pockets and pull out some coins. Not nearly enough to cover as many as I need tonight.

"Lol, loan me five quid." I don't even ask, I'm such a right bossy cunt.

"Simon! What the fuck?!" He protests, but digs in his pocket for the money anyway, and slides the note across the table.

"Cheers." I say, and my eyes dart over the room before I approach the bar, not even offering Lol a refill. I just want to be left alone to have a drink in peace, but soon enough my dream is shattered to fucking bits.

"Robert!" I hear Lol's voice behind me.

I shouldn't have come here tonight, but then I never listen to the right voice in my head, do I?

My body tenses and remains plastered up against the bar, and I realize it was only a matter of time until  _you_  came waltzing the fuck in—your friends are here. All these blokes... I didn't really know them until I met you. The only other friends I have, or had, I should say, were the few blokes in Lockjaw, and now that's over with since I said I'd take up with you and your lot. But who am I kidding? That's definitely done with as well. As a musician, if I have the bollocks to call myself that, I'm finished here.

I down my whiskey and keep the change. I need all the cash I can get now since I've quit my job and have no other prospects on the horizon. I hate myself right about now. I hate that I let you have so much power over me. I need to leave this town for good and I need to forget about you...for good. Why is that so hard?

I pull on my jacket and that's when I feel the familiar warmth of your body next to mine. I don't need to look up, it's unmistakable. You order a beer, quickly brushing past me without saying a word, but you know you don't need to—and I want to fucking scream.

I don't want to be here. I don't want to be anywhere anymore, really. All the whiskeys and beers are starting to quickly catch up to me now and I know I'm swaying, but I have to make it out of here on my own. I turn to leave quickly, much too quickly for a person as pissed as me, and stumble, knocking over a barstool or two in my wake.

Shit. I suppose every person in this godforsaken place saw that and I feel tears burning at the corners of my eyes causing my eyesight to cloud over on top of my already double vision from the alcohol, and then I feel hands on my arms pulling me up. I hadn't even realized I'd fallen to the ground.


	8. They'll Never Know

"Where's the fucking car, Lol?!" It's your voice. The voice I never wanted to hear again, but can't stop hearing it in my head day after day.

All I can manage to say to you—the only person that even bothered to help me moments ago in the pub, the person that's literally holding me upright, preventing me from falling flat on my face is:

"Where's my fuckin' bass, goddamn it?!" I slur, trying to sound angry but it's not working. I don't know what I sound like at the moment, other than completely trashed.

"Simon, what the...?!" You're moving, trying to hold me up. Unfortunately, I seem to be lulling about like a wet noodle and it sounds like your getting frustrated, "Stop!! Just try and stand for fuck's sake!!"

You don't answer my question and I have to know, "Where...is...it??!!"

"It-it's at my fucking house!  _Happy??!!"_

"Ah-ha!!!" I boom in your face, "Fuckin' knew it, I did! Bunch of fuckin' liars, both you and bloody pissface here!!" I motion to Lol and try to pull away from you, but you yank me forward and I flop into you like a rag doll.

"Shut it, Simon! Now!"

"No!!" I shout, defiantly.

"Do you want the fucking bill to show?!?!?!" You yell into my ear and it hurts. You're angry and I'm drunk—and now quite deaf, apparently.

By now there's a small crowd of people that have gathered round just outside the pub to watch the arseholes screaming into the night—my eyes are half shut though, so I can't really make out how many. I turn into your body and as soon as I smell you, I have an unexplainable, sudden change in mood.

"Smell you.  _You!_   Robert." I slur and take in a long, exaggerated breath and hum into your shoulder, "Mmmm..." I just don't know how to shut my trap, do I?

I keep going on about it and I can't seem to stop. I've gone completely mental now and I begin to laugh out loud, maniacally so.

"Lol, help me get him in!" You call over my bizarre laughter.

" _My_  fucking car?!" Lol protests loudly, "You're cleaning it up if he spews all over!"

"Just-just fucking... _Fuck!!"_  You're furious and you try to open the door and hold on to me which probably isn't such an easy task, considering the fact that I'm not much help at all, nor is Lol, and you've probably been drinking a fair bit as well.

Once again, I've managed to throw a spanner into the works, haven't I? Your evening is cut short, you'll have to leave your car here overnight, you may have to deal with mopping up my chunks if I vomit, and I'm embarrassing you by causing a scene and making myself a mess of a bloody spectacle right outside your favorite pub.

What the fuck are friends for?!

I stop laughing suddenly at that thought and I sniff as my hand comes up to wipe my nose. I don't know how I can possibly have the nerve to think you're still my friend, or will ever be again after the shit I've put you through, and I realize my behavior is nothing short of a spoilt child's. I just don't know why you haven't hit me. Christ, even Carol has, but I know you won't, that's not your style. You've always had more control and it's one of the things that I've always admired about you, even a smidge envious of that quality at certain times, I suppose.

We're in the back seat of Lol's car and you're sitting beside me with your arm round my shoulder and almost immediately I feel a wave of sadness and anger boil over in me.

"R-ro... Get off." I slur, my hand coming up to swat you away in drunken frustration and it's a move I instantly regret, but you don't say a word, you merely sit next to me patiently and I can't bear it.

I don't even know why you're here with me, I'm such an evil wanker. I've chased away my best friend and it's done me in completely. I hate my life without you in it. I've never felt this way about another human being. Ever. Even after everything that's happened between us—the physical part—I miss you even more. How can that be possible? It doesn't make sense and all I want is for the confusion to stop. I thought we were so close and we could tell each other everything. I thought you were the only one who really knew me, but it turns out that I don't even know myself anymore and it's frightening. I suddenly feel tears begin to spill over and I just lose it.

"God!!!" I cry out suddenly. My life is fucking falling apart and I'm so overwhelmed that I can't stop and I find myself clinging to you limply, my arms clasping round your neck as I sob into your shoulder, my tears wetting the front of your shirt.

I can barely breathe, barely speak, but I have to know, "A-are we...?" I mumble in between sputters into your chest, "Are you still...my friend?"

I'm having a complete breakdown right in front of you—I can't even imagine what Lol is making of all this—and you're holding me, almost rocking me as I continue to sob like a lunatic. I feel your mouth near my ear and you whisper lightly into it.

"Shhh, yes, I am. It's going to be okay, Si. Really..."

***      ***      ***

It's dark when I open my eyes except for the dim light that shines from the cracked door of the loo. I blink again and adjust my eyes, and to my relief I recognize that I'm in David's old bedroom in the tiny, dark dungeon of my parents' basement. We came through the back and I reckon you helped me down the stairs and into bed. I can't remember any of it, but can only imagine that it must've been the furthest thing from a doddle with a nutter like me clinging to you.

I start to close my eyes again and wonder fleetingly how you made it home, when I move my leg and it bumps against something warm and I'm stunned to discover that you haven't left at all—you're in the pull out bed fast asleep right beside me. I turn my head and see you partially covered by a duvet, clad in a t-shirt and boxers sprawled on your stomach facing me. As I watch your back lift and lower from your soft, steady breathing, I can't quite believe you haven't snuffed me out in my sleep after all the horrible things I've said and done to you.

"Robert." I whisper, and roll over onto my side, nudging you, "Robert?" I grasp your shoulder and shake you lightly.

"Hmm?" You finally mumble groggily without opening your eyes, "Wot-wot's happening?"

"Wake up, Robert."

"Mmm? No."

Shit. This is going to be bloody impossible. You never wake up when roused. Come to think of it, I've never even seen an alarm clock in your room the entire time I've known you. No wonder you're always late.

"You have to wake up." I insist in your ear, "Robert, please."

"Why? Who's here?"

"It's me. Simon."

Your eyes finally crack open and meet mine. You still look half asleep, but you manage to raise your head slightly off the pillow.

"Are you...?" You clear your throat, "Do you have to vomit?"

" _What?_  No, I don't." I say somewhat disappointed, but not surprised. I only hope that's not what I've been doing since we've come back here. Christ, I'm so completely useless. "Have-have I been? Throwing up?"

"No." You say quietly and your hands slide under your pillow. Your eyes are open and I find myself just staring at you. I can't bring myself to look away and I don't know why. Maybe it's the way you're lying so close and I can feel your warmth, maybe it's the way your hair is so disheveled and sleep is still in your eyes, or maybe it's the way you're looking back at me—that sparkling blue that never fails to draw me in.

It's then that I suddenly see your lips curl into a small, soft smile and I just can't take it. It's that same, shy smile I saw when you stood before me in my bedroom weeks ago.

I have to look away.

"Simon," You whisper, "What is it?"

I feel a lump in my throat and I can't even answer you without stuttering.

"I...nothing, I'm..." Such horseshit. It's definitely something, and I feel my eyes beginning to get moist. I have to stop, and I start to turn over to face the other way.

"Hey, what-where are you going?" You ask and I feel your hand on my back, you're trying to stop me. "Come here..."

My face suddenly feels warm, flushed, and my eyes close at the sound of your soft whisper commanding me and I seriously hope you didn't see that. I need to pull myself together and I take a deep breath, keeping my gaze focused on the wall behind you.

"Robert, I'm sorry." I finally croak out, "I really, really am."

I return my gaze to you and I should have known better than to do that right now. You've been looking at me all along, and your hand slowly slides up my arm to my shoulder, finally stopping at my neck where your fingers lightly rub my skin and my heart literally flutters at that contact.

"Is that why you woke me?" You ask, still smiling that shy, sleepy smile.

I feel like such a tosser here like this. You've done nothing but be a friend and many times you've been so much more than that. I know full well that I'm not worthy of you.

"I-I guess so." It's all I can respond with after waking you up for nothing. Brilliant.

"It's okay." You whisper softly.

"No," I shake my head. It's not okay. I'm a fucking turd, "I've been a shithead, Robert. I'm sorry for hitting you." I pause, "I'm sorry for everything."

I really mean that. You have no idea how much I mean it. I didn't even bloody know myself until you were out of my life. I hope you believe me because this is the best I can do, unfortunately.

You turn on your side to face me and pull the duvet over your shoulder before you speak and your voice is so quiet, so patient.

"Simon, it's-it really is okay." Your head is on the pillow, and your hand comes back to my shoulder and I close my eyes for a moment, my breath catching at your touch.

You chuckle softly, "Looking peaky, you are. Think you need a bit more sleep..." And your fingers trail down my arm lightly, causing a familiar shiver to run down my spine.

"Guess-guess so." Is all I can say once again, but it's not what I want, and I wish I could tell you otherwise.

You chuckle again tiredly, though your gaze never leaves me, "You look delirious, Si." You're spot on, but it's not from lack of sleep. And as you begin to roll over that's when I stop you.

"Robert..." I whisper, and before I even realize it, I lean forward and kiss you, soft but quick on the lips.

Your eyes widen a bit—you seem surprised by what I've done, but quickly compose yourself and you pull back, clearing your throat.

"I—" You immediately look down at the sheets and your fingers slowly stroke the fabric in front of you for a few moments until you say, "Goodnight, Simon." And then slowly turn away from me.

I couldn't have been more off the mark and my stomach drops.

"I'm sorry." I seem to be sorry a lot these days. My hand moves to your warm shoulder under the duvet, then suddenly springs back. You've made it perfectly clear what you don't want from me just now, so why the hell do I think I can go round touching you? I quickly turn over on my side and face the wall. I haven't a bloody clue as to what it is I think I'm doing.

Fuck.

The mattress dips as you move and I just know this is it. I feel the duvet being pulled, and I wait to feel an empty coldness where your body once was as you rise from the bed, but that's not what happens at all. Instead, I feel your hand on my arm and you're behind me now, facing my back and my body freezes. I can almost feel your thighs on my ass and I exhale at last, not realizing I've been holding my breath.

"Simon?" Your wisp of a voice cuts through the air, "Can—can I kiss you goodnight?"

I can't believe you've just asked me that. It's a ridiculous question and I think we both know it, but I want you to and I can't believe I'm answering you.

"Yes..." My thick, husky reply trails off and now I don't know what to expect—what I should do after being so obviously rejected, so I do nothing. I lie there with my eyes wide open, every one of my senses in overdrive, waiting.

I feel your body press closer against my back and your lips find my cheek where they press a soft, lingering kiss. Your hand slowly moves to my neck and around to my jaw, lightly caressing and you move even closer against my body, and that's when I feel it—your warm, hard erection up against my ass, and I inhale deeply. I'm suddenly light-headed and I can't hear anything except my own heart beating in my ears as I try and breathe.

I feel your hand on my shoulder pulling me back towards you slowly, "Simon," You breathe and I can barely hear you, "Come here."

My cock is instantly hard and I can't even think straight. Why did you have to whisper those words to me again like that? It's as if you've possessed me and I can't stop it.

I've almost turned to face you and your mouth finally reaches mine and you're kissing me and when I open my mouth I feel you tremble as your tongue finally finds its way inside, and as I hear the sounds of our wet, hungry kisses it urges me on even more, but I can feel you start to pull away.

"No..." I mumble in your mouth and my arms wrap around you, pulling you closer. You know I can't say it, but my hands tell you, and I move them up into your hair and I push your head down gently until your mouth meets mine again, and my body tells you as I open my legs, and you sink in between them and kiss me more urgently. I know you can feel my hard-on up against you now and I don't think I need to say a word.

You're not holding back any longer and your hands begin to move under my shirt and roam down my sides and you mumble into my ear, "I-God..." Your voice trails off to a lustful whisper and it's all too much. I've never been this hard in my fucking life.

You stop and you raise yourself up on your elbows and you look at me. You're so out of breath and I can do nothing but stare back at you in amazement. Your face, your eyes—so heavy-lidded, the blue still piercing right through me and it almost sends me over. I want to come right here in your arms and my cock throbs, wetting the front of my shorts and I know you felt that too and I have to close my eyes before I lose control.

Your hands glide over my skin and they gently pull my t-shirt up over my chest and I raise my arms as you guide it over my head and throw it to the side. I feel you lift your body from mine and pull your t-shirt from the back with one arm and raise it over your head, removing it and we're both silent, both shirtless, our warm, heaving chests breathing against each other's and when I finally open my eyes you're still staring at me.

"Simon," You whisper, but I don't let you finish and I pull you down for another kiss. I put my hands on my shorts and begin to push them down and off with my feet and you're on top of me, kissing my neck and my jaw as small, breathless sounds emerge from your throat. Your hand quickly slides down until it reaches my hard cock and the moment you put your hand on me I flinch, trembling as your fingers slide down my length and I whimper breathlessly, my eyes rolling back and my head pressing back into the pillow as you continue to touch me. But as quickly as your hand is on me, it moves away and your hips lift as you pull your shorts down and kick them off, leaving them down by your feet under the duvet. You slowly lower your body once again onto mine and I gasp as I feel your cock grind into me, wetting my groin, my stomach...  
  
You're kissing me again so deeply I can barely breathe and your hand finds my leg and gently pushes it further apart. Your fingers run up and down my trembling thigh and I move your hand to my cock, but instead, you pull away. Your trembling exhale whispers my name, and I feel your warm hardness prodding the opening of my ass and I'm shaking. I'm shaking just as much as you are and my eyes meet yours and they're searching my face, hoping, wordlessly asking, but you don't have to ask. I know exactly what you want, but I have no idea how on earth to give it to you.

You kiss me deeply once again, your tongue sucking at mine and you break away. God, I can't even think. I'm in utter disbelief that this is going to happen and my head is spinning. I want you and my cock is so fucking hard, but I'm terrified and before I can even change my mind, before I can move away, I feel your cock push into me and a long, soft moan leaves your lips as you do.

The pain is excruciating and my entire body clenches up as you enter me. I'm gritting my teeth to keep from waking the entire house upstairs and to keep from screaming in your ear. We're both breathing heavy and beginning to sweat and I try to relax as I exhale. You're still on top of me but you're hesitating. Your breath is short and sharp and when you try moving again inside me, your eyes close tightly and you bury your head in my neck and you thrust grunting softly, my body jerking from the pain.

"Fuck..." You whisper and you move again, slowly and more steadily with your arms almost cradling me, holding me as you continue. All I can hear now is the bed frame squeaking beneath us and our heavy breathing, and your soft grunts as you fuck me.  
  
Christ! I can't believe any of this. You're on top of me moaning and grunting...fucking me as Mum and Dad sleep soundly upstairs, neither one of them suspecting a bloody thing.

You've shifted, and I lift my leg over your hip and you drive into me this time, your cock hitting something in me that makes me gasp into the darkness.

"Ohh!" I try not to cry out and you push in even deeper, still grunting those soft sounds.

Fuck! You've hit that spot again and the pleasure now overrides the pain. I just can't describe it, and I want you to do it again and again and you do, and I whimper. It's all I can take as your body grinds into my cock whilst you're on top of me, creating friction and God...I'm so close. I'm going to come all over us and it's all happening much too fast.

"Rob-Robert!" I mumble desperately. You're still on top of me and my hands grasp your back, sliding down to your ass and I gently push, encouraging you to drive into me again, and you do. I throw my head back into the pillow, my eyes clench shut and I come so hard I see white bursts of light and my cock shoots out between both of us.

You're panting loudly now and you whimper, breathlessly thrusting only a few more times, your entire body shaking and tensing as you come inside of me. Your hands grip at my upper arms as your orgasm moves through you and your trembling mouth searches blindly for mine, and you kiss me as your tremors finally begin to subside.


	9. They'll Never Know

I try and shift my position so I can breathe, but I can't. Your body is dead weight on top of me. You slowly pull out of me and I tense at that unexpected, unfamiliar feeling. It burns. Your breathing eventually slows to a more normal pace and you finally settle next to me on the bed. I don't think I need to ask what just happened between us; you actually, really just fucked me. The realization of it all finally knocks me out of my alcohol-addled state and I close my eyes as a sinking feeling begins to take hold.  
  
We haven't said a word to each other for a long while and that's no surprise, is it? But then I suddenly hear you speak and your hesitant, quiet voice startles me.  
  
“Are you okay?” You ask as you rise on one elbow and look at me. Your hair is a mess, your lips are swollen and red from our kisses and you smell like you, but different. You smell like sex.  
  
“I guess so.” Fuck! Why do I keep saying that?!  
  
But really, what else is there to say after your best mate that you've known for years has just had sex with you in your parents' house right under their noses, right in your brother's old bed? I'm pretty much gob smacked and not in the mood for conversation right at this moment.  
  
I hear the squeak of floorboards above our heads and quickly look away from you. Someone's up. _Just fucking lovely._ _  
_  
I stiffly rise from the mattress. It's as if I'm in a dream, and I scan the room for my shorts and then remember they're underneath the covers in bed. I reach down and retrieve them, and to my surprise, you don't move or say a word as I pull them on, head to the toilet and shut the door. I need a slash and I just need to think alone. I sigh heavily as I lift the seat and quickly discover that my ass is sore and as I stand there pissing, I cringe at what that could mean. Did I bleed all over the sheets? Fucking fabulous. I'm more than likely going to have to intercept Mum with the washing tomorrow. There's no chance I'll be able to explain away this one.  
  
What about you? Should I let you stay? Should I kick you out? I have no bloody idea what the fuck to do now. I just know that I need sleep. I'm so incredibly knackered, but I can't stop thinking about what should come next.  
  
***      ***      ***  
  
The only thing I remember after you fucked me the other night was my ass hurting, having a piss and then falling back into bed. I don’t even remember if you were still beside me then, I must have blocked that bit out. Unfortunately, the rest of it has done nothing but occupy my mind since waking up alone the next afternoon, and for days I’ve been walking around as if in a trance, with all sorts of things striking me as peculiar—stupid, little things that trigger some random memory of you.  
  
For instance, when I stripped the bed as soon as I got out of it the next day, I could still smell you and I felt compelled to hold your pillow in my hands and bury my face in it before stripping that too. As I stood in front of the washer in the kitchen, mindlessly stuffing the soiled sheets into the machine, my mind flashed back to what we’d done together on them and I ended up just standing there whilst the scene played out over and over again in my mind. Mum even stopped in the doorway and looked on in amazement, finally asking if I was ill, although probably more so over the fact I’d actually done laundry rather than the fact that I was just standing there, staring into space like a fucking mute.  
  
No one has really spoken to me other than that, although I do remember getting a few strange looks from Dad, but I haven’t had the energy to ask him the reason for those. Maybe he saw us downstairs that morning half naked sleeping in the same bed. Should I really care at this point?  
  
The house has been strangely quiet as well. No phone calls from you or Carol, for that matter, and no sightings of you around town here. You were always the one who drove out to me most times and I have to laugh and shake my head at that—at least now I know it was more than just what I thought it was.  
  
I order another pint at the bar. Though I had all intentions of staying in and playing music to try and forget about you—about us—that idea was instantly squashed as I remembered my bass still on its stand in the corner of your dining room. I couldn’t very well sit at home and stare at the walls, so I came here alone. You never really liked it here anyway—always hated the only band that ever plays here, not to mention the barman who’s a right miserable bastard. You’ve gotten into a few tiffs with him in the past, so I know it’s a place where you’re least likely to show your face.  
  
I stare across the room at nothing, take a long drink from my pint and fleetingly wonder if you’ve thrown my bass out the window yet and that’s when I finally pull myself together. _Fuck this._ I paid for that bass. You’re not going to end up keeping something that’s rightfully mine. I can’t let you do that.  
  
As I continue to guzzle my pint and order another, my blood is beginning to boil and daft thoughts begin to fester in my mind . Just how many instruments do you actually have stockpiled from other blokes at your house? Is this how you got hold of your keyboard? You said it was your sister’s, but now I’m not so sure. What about your other guitar? Is this really what you do?  
  
I chug down the rest of my beer, grab some change from the counter and head outside in a fury, straight to the nearest phone.  
  
***      ***      ***  
  
“…Fucking lucky I was on my way out.” Lol grumbles through the unrolled window as he pulls up to the curb.  
  
“Yeah, thanks.” I mumble pull the door open and slide into the back seat, knowing full well he’s got every right to be annoyed. Maybe some fucking day when I’m not such loser I’ll repay him—though it’s not bloody likely in this lifetime.  
  
His girlfriend turns to face me and looks me up and down and I know what _that_ means: I’m a pain in the fucking arse.  
  
“Why don’t you get a fucking job, Simon?!” Lol asks, eyeing me in the rearview mirror, then lights a fag.  
  
“Working on it.” Is all I can say. Hardly. I’m working on people wanting to beat the shit out of me, more like.  
  
The rest of the drive is just a long, drawn out, awkward silence as my mind is incapable of focusing on anything else but bashing you square in the gob.  
  
“This is the last time you get a chauffeur.” Lol says as he finally pulls up to the curb.  
  
I look out the window at the familiar, dark house across the street and I sigh and slowly get out of the car.  
  
“I’m not waiting.” Lol states, and I really don’t care—don’t have much choice anyway.  
  
I respond with a dismal, “Yeah, s’alright. Thanks.” And he’s already off, down the street.  
  
I suddenly find myself on your front step and I stall by lighting a fag, inhaling and letting out a long plume of smoke. What had seemed like a good plan on the journey over here now seems like a huge bloody mistake.  
  
I ring the buzzer and it honestly looks as if no one’s home, the entire house is dark and it’s still early. The only thing I can think of after pressing the buzzer again is that you’ve gone out for the evening, but I soon discover that’s not the case as the front door swings open and it’s you standing there in front of me.  
  
You look out of breath, almost as if I’ve interrupted something - your hair is a mess, much like the very last time I saw you after we... and it takes all my willpower to not look down at your groin. Moments later I see a female hand come round your waist from behind, and I realize with a sinking feeling that I’ve most certainly interrupted something.  
  
I can tell you’re a bit surprised, but you eye me almost slyly, not turning on the light nor making a move to let me inside.  
  
“What?” You ask coldly.  
  
My confidence is beginning to dissolve away, but I stand my ground.  
  
“My bass…” Is all I can say and I ground out my fag under my foot. After a few long, uncomfortable moments of your eyes piercing straight through me, you finally step aside and let me in. You don’t greet me or say a word as I walk past and neither does Mary. She only pulls away from you and stands there glaring at me with her arms crossed. I keep my head down and my gaze fixed on the floor as I walk into the dining room. I quickly put my bass in the case when I hear footsteps behind me and the door between the living room and dining room softly closes.  
  
“Why the fuck did you come here?” You’re hushed yet exasperated voice at the edge of the room is something I hadn’t planned on hearing, and it startles me.  
  
I fumble with the lock on the case, finally securing it and you speak again.  
  
“Simon.” You ask, “Why?!”  
  
I force myself to look up and you’re standing in front the door, confirming my worst fear: it’s really closed and Mary is nowhere to be found—we're now completely alone.  
  
“I-I told you…my bass.” I say plainly as if I barely know you, but it’s no use. I was never convincing at being aloof and I certainly can’t get away with it now. I can’t pretend as if we were never best friends, as if you’d never touched me, as if we’d never had sex…as if I don’t care. I do. It’s an odd feeling and I find myself just staring at you and I’ve got to stop. I’m beginning to lose focus; my thoughts racing from my real intent earlier which was to come over here, kick the crap out of you and reclaim my bass, to now searching wildly for the nearest way out, realizing dismally that you’re blocking the only exit, and my eyes immediately dart over to the window.  
  
I march over to it with bass in hand and your eyes follow me as I unlock it and push it open.  
  
“What the fuck are you doing?!” You ask in a huff.  
  
It seems as if I’ve either confused or amused you and right now I don’t give a toss as to which one it is. I’ve got to get out of here and I don’t care if I have to jump five stories to do it. I don’t say a word as I lift my leg and place my foot on the sill. With my bass still in hand I scan the ground below and thank Christ we're not even a story up, but as soon as I lift my other leg I suddenly feel your hand yanking me by my arm back inside. My body instantly flies backward off the sill and I flop on my ass and my bass follows, toppling to the hardwood floor with a loud thud.  
  
_“Motherfucker!!!”_ I shout. My tailbone is now throbbing and I roll over onto my side in pain.  
  
“Simon!” You exclaim. I honestly haven't a clue as to why you sound so shocked since you're the fucker who pulled me back in here like that, obviously hoping to break my sodding neck. I hear the sound of breathing over me and your hand is on my shoulder and as I try and squirm away from your touch, I wince from the pain.  
  
“Fuck!” I whimper.  
  
“Shit! I'm sorry!” Your voice sounds worried and shaking and I feel your hand move from my shoulder to the side of my face and you're stroking my cheek, trying to calm me and for fuck's sake, it's working, but it shouldn’t be. I don't want it to. I hear your breathing just above my head and then the most unexpected feeling of you gently planting a kiss on that same cheek causes me to whimper again, _loudly_ …and even before we realize it, the door handle clicks and it's her.  
  
“Rob?” She asks with concern in her voice, “I heard crashing noises and I just—” She stops short and takes in a breath and as I lie there helplessly, I can only assume she's witnessing what I can't quite fucking believe I'm feeling at that very moment; your lips on my face.  
  
“I-I think I should... I, umm...” And her stunned stutters trail off into the next room as I hear the front door being pulled open and your footsteps immediately following out after her.  
  
_Bloody, fucking hell!_ I'm trembling now and I can't seem to stop. I might as well just top myself right here. Nothing could be much worse than what's just happened so why the fuck not? I slowly turn and after several agonizingly painful moments, I finally stand and make my way to your kitchen, trying to recall in which drawer you keep your knives...


	10. They'll Never Know

I find myself standing against the counter in your kitchen staring blankly into a drawer full of random knives for I don’t know how blooming long, and I suddenly feel my eyes beginning to water. I don’t know where you’ve run off to and after what just happened I seriously doubt you’re coming back anytime soon, but then I jump. I’m utterly shocked to hear your voice call my name softly from the doorway.  
  
“Simon.” You’re slightly out of breath and I know why, but it escapes me as to why you even give a toss about me, but then I quickly remember I'm in your house and you had to come back here eventually, anyway, “What are you doing?” You ask.  
  
“Nothing.” I say dully and my vision blurs as a tear drops onto the cutlery below.  
  
You’re a clever enough bloke to bloody well know that I don’t need to tell you what it is I think I’m doing. You step up behind me, carefully peer into the drawer over my slumped shoulder and I hear you take a deep breath.  
  
“There's nothing in here for you.” You say resolutely, and quickly slam the drawer shut.  
  
And just like that my plan is foiled. I can’t even bloody kill myself properly.  
  
“I-I have to, umm,” I don’t even know why I’m trying to say anything at this point. It wouldn’t change what’s happened between you and Mary. It wouldn’t change what’s happened between us.  
  
You say softly, “Please, don’t...”  
  
“Don’t?” I can barely speak. I so desperately want to leave, but I know if I do it will be over. I’ll never see you again. The worst part is, I can’t think of why that should even matter.  
  
“Don’t leave.” You’re begging and I can’t quite believe what I’m hearing.  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because I—” You abruptly stop your words and pause, “You just…you can’t.” Your struggling surprises even me as you’re hardly ever at a loss for words.  
  
“Why did...why did you fucking kiss me earlier?!” I blurt out, and my hands begin to shake, but I can’t let you see that, so I shove them into my jacket pockets.  
  
“I don’t—because…” You pause and sigh heavily, “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to leave.”  
  
None of this makes any sense and I have to tell you so and I push myself back into you hard, in the hopes that you’ll move the bloody hell out of my way. You finally do and I whirl around to face you.  
  
“First, you ask me why the fuck I came round—you didn’t want me here! Then you don’t want me to leave!” I'm yelling now, “What the fuck is going on here?!”  
  
“Do you want me to say it?!” Slowly, I see that same heartbreak creep back into your eyes and they’re starting to well up as you stand there staring at me, “Do you?!”  
  
“Fuck, Robert! Say what?!” I yell, “ _What???!!!”_  
  
“I just—” You look down at your feet, “I love you.”  
  
I stop short at your words. Did you just say what I think you’ve said to me?!  
  
“What the fuck are you—?” I’m unable to finish my sentence. I’m utterly gob smacked.  
  
“You heard me!” You’re yelling back at me now, and your frustration is the worst I’ve ever seen, “Shall I repeat myself???!!!”  
  
My jaw drops open in awe and I instantly step back and slump into the wall.  
  
“I love—”  
  
“Stop it, Robert!!!” I put my hands over my ears.  
  
You step towards me and I lunge forward, pushing you back against the fridge and the contents inside clang about as I hear your body thud against it, but I obviously didn’t push hard enough. It only stops you for a moment, and then much to my bloody horror, you straighten yourself up and continue.  
  
“Mary knows.” You’re trying to sound so hard, like all of this isn’t even affecting you, but your voice is shaking, “She’s suspected all along, anyway—even before tonight. She knows, Simon.”  
  
I can't listen to this. I should’ve punched you in the fucking head.  
  
_“What?!”_ I blurt, my eyes widening at what your statement could mean, “What the fuck does she know, Robert?!”  
  
“That I—that we’ve been...” And your voice trails off. You can’t even say it, can you? That you’ve kissed me? Tossed me off? Sucked me and fucked me? What exactly have you told her? I thought you said no one would ever know?

“Oh, really?” I say with cruel bitterness, “Right, Robert. _Sure_. The love of your fucking life knows you’ve fucked me, then? Or maybe you told her you only sucked me?! Which is it, eh?!”  
  
“It’s...she knows.” Is all you can say and your head remains down with your eyes glued to the floor. You won’t even look at me, but then what should I expect? Apparently, you’ve been shagging blokes on the side, perhaps even before you’ve met either of us. You’ve told all those lies just to shag me, haven’t you? To get off while your precious girlfriend’s not around…and how could I forget your stockpile of instruments that seem to magically appear? It’s all making sense now.  
  
I’m going to throw up.  
  
“You fucking cocksucker.” I growl under my breath and it’s only after what I’ve called you I realize that it probably does nothing to offend you. It’s the truth after all now, isn’t it? I’ve got to do better than that, “You fucking piece of shit.” I grumble.  
  
“Simon…” Your gaze is still glued to the floor as you slowly shake your head.  
  
“So what the fuck am I then?” I huff, “Some piece of ass on the side, eh? And my fucking bass!” I sound like a fucking _girl_ now. I shouldn’t even care about any of this. I should be a man and simply take myself, my bass and my fucking bollocks and leave.  
  
“What are you saying?!” Your arm comes forward and I flinch before you get the chance to touch me, “Simon, it’s not like that at all.”  
  
“Bullshit!” I yell again. I can’t stop yelling, “All lies! Just like before... behind the pub!” I turn away from you and suddenly my face feels hot and I’m sweating.  
  
“I’m not lying to you! I never did!”  
  
“Yes, you bloody well are!”  
  
“Simon. I’m not.” You’re stepping towards me now and I don’t stop you, “I miss you…”  
  
I don’t want to hear it. That _tone_ in your voice.  
  
“Robert, no!” My yell is quickly turning into a whimper and you’re already right in front of me, and your finger lands on my lips to silence me and I’m trembling, I can barely breathe and my chest is heaving.  
  
You grab my face so gently, yet your touch is still forceful and you turn me towards you. It’s almost as if you know exactly what you want and you won’t stop until you have it and I’m just standing there watching you, letting you take it.  
  
Your eyes are smoldering into mine and my resolve is instantly gone and then, God... I feel your mouth. You’re kissing me and your tongue eagerly prods at my lips and I let you in, my legs nearly buckling at the feel of you pulling at me.  
  
You break away, breathless, and I hear you utter, “Simon, I love you.” And you kiss me again deeply.

Should those words make everything okay after what’s happened earlier? I wish I knew the answer—the right thing to do, but I feel my jacket being slipped off, hitting the floor as you kiss me and your hands are on me now, creeping up under my shirt, and with that, every clear, rational thought has now gone out the sodding window.


	11. They'll Never Know

I haven't had a drop to drink for ages, yet I can't remember how we wound up shirtless, standing in your room in the dark with your tongue almost down my throat and your hand down my pants. I moan into your mouth as you push me onto your bed on my back, and I prop myself up on my elbows, barely able to breathe as you stand over me.  
  
“You're perfect, you know...” I wish I could laugh at your outlandish statement, but that low, trembling whisper of yours makes my breath catch instead, and before I realize it you're on the bed on top of me, kissing me, practically ripping my jeans and shorts down over my thighs and finally breaking away to pull them off. You're desperate and my cock is throbbing.  
  
“Fuck!” You whisper right before you kiss me again, and I can't ever remember feeling like this.  
  
I'm completely naked and I don't care. I don't care about anything else right now. I don't care if the entire world found out about us whilst it caught fire. The only thing I do care about is the feel of your hands as they trail up my thighs and I whimper loudly as a burst of pre-ejaculate wets both my cock and your hand as you begin to toss me off.  
  
I can only whimper my protest weakly into your neck, but I have to tell you this is wrong. My mind is trying like bloody hell to refuse you, we shouldn’t be doing this now—not after what happened earlier, but my body wants this and I can’t stop it. Just your smell alone is making me dizzy.  
  
“We can’t... What-what about—?” What about her, I want to say, but it’s not working and I’m quickly smothered by the feel of your mouth on mine again. Your urgent kiss renders me helpless, and now both of your hands are on my ass squeezing it and your fingers graze my crack and I jump. I hear the sound of your zipper and you kick your trousers and shorts off and you scramble back to me.  
  
You're now completely naked and you press your warm body to mine and kiss me again before breaking away and you swallow hard, “Please.” You’re begging and a lustful, breathless sound leaves your mouth, “Suck my cock.”  
  
I merely stare at you in amazement as those words leave your lips and I can instantly see the want, the desperation in your eyes and as I look down at your cock standing at attention between us, I know I’ve got to do this and my head swims at the realization of what it means. You roll onto your back and I hesitate for a moment, and then begin with kissing your chest, my mouth opening slightly over your light tufts of hair and you moan as my tongue reaches out and glides over the smooth, damp, porcelain skin of your ribcage. I feel your hands lightly twisting in my hair, moving my head down even further, until I find my nose is just above your erection and I tremble.  
  
I can hear your harsh breathing and I know what you’re waiting for. I’m so close and my tongue slowly reaches out and just touches your tip to taste you and you whimper loudly, your cock twitching under my mouth. I feel more wetness burst forth and I know I don't have much time.  
  
I open my mouth and take you in almost completely and soon discover that’s a mistake as I end up gagging on your substantial length, but you don’t seem to give a toss, and you push me down even further and my nose grazes your dark pubic hair. You guide my head back up and I move down again and you gasp, your hands still guiding me, digging into my scalp even harder as I start to suck your cock.  
  
“Ohhh, yes!” You whisper harshly, and you're panting and my hands are now on your hips, holding you in place as your legs tremble and I feel you begin to thrust gently into my mouth. I can’t quite believe I’m sucking you off, but it doesn’t last for long—you’re breathing too hard, too fast, and before I know it, you’re pulling at my hair and shoulders as if to pull me away, and I don’t understand.  
  
“Simon. No, stop!” You moan as if I’d hurt you and I abruptly stop my movement and take my mouth away, wiping it with back of my hand as I look at you. Am I really that bloody horrible at this?  
  
“Rob-what’s—?” I can barely speak and I’m ready to hear the worst right now, but that doesn’t happen. Instead your hands reach out to caress my face, my jaw.  
  
“Kiss me...” You say, still out of breath and the moment I look down at you lying there like that with your eyes burning through me once again, I can’t resist. I move up and lay on my side, flush against you and I kiss you eagerly.  
  
You break away and whisper firmly, “Turn-turn over…”

And I know what’s coming. I want you to fuck me again so badly I can’t think straight. It’s as if I’ve gone completely mental and I’m shaking all over as I slowly roll on to my back.  
  
“No, on your—” You're so overcome that your whisper trails off, and after a long moment you try again, “Onto your hands and knees.”  
  
Fucking hell! I'm bloody powerless and can do nothing but obey your command, and I do without uttering a single word.  
  
Your hands are on my back and sides feeling me, and they trail down to my ass and I sigh long and low. I feel so dirty with my ass in the air like this just waiting for you to fuck me, but then hear the sound of rustling on the bedside table. The mattress giving way to your movement finally makes me turn my head and I glance back at you as you drop a tube of what could only be lube, carelessly to the floor. I turn back around and instantly feel your cock rubbing against my ass cheek and without warning you drive into me.  
~~  
~~ You whimper as I cry out, and as you begin to move more quickly, I notice there’s nowhere near the amount of pain that there was the last time, but then it wouldn't really matter as crazed as we've become, would it? It only feels more incredible, and your movement becomes more forceful. It’s almost as if you’re losing control, and my body jerks forward with each violent thrust and the bed slams into the wall over and over again as you fuck me.  
~~  
~~ “...Oh, God!” You murmur, and your cock suddenly hits that familiar spot inside me, driving me mad as you thrust into me, grunting softly and urgently, again and again. I know what you want now and I push back hard into your body, and I feel like crying at the animal I’ve become as you pound into me with one hand on my hip and one digging into my shoulder, moving into my hair, pulling me... and then I feel your body on top of my back. You're holding me there as you continue and your whisper in my ear is hungry and wavering, and I haven't a clue as to what more you could possibly want.  
  
“Touch yourself.” And God, I do! I begin to jerk myself off as you fuck me hard from behind like I've never imagined, and I can’t quite believe this. I’ve never felt anything this good. I've never been this lost in anything—this lost in another human being before.  
~~~~  
It’s too soon and I know it, but I couldn't stop it if I tried. I feel tears roll down my face and I shut my eyes tightly as I cry out—my cock exploding in my hand, all over my belly, all over your bed.  
  
“Christ!” You call out, “Fuck!” Your anguished exclamation continues as your orgasm hits you, your hands clutching my body as you come, and your dead weight finally drops onto my sweaty back.


	12. They'll Never Know

As I sat there watching the bloody door for any sign of you, my mind did nothing but wander, with my thoughts drifting back to your hands on my body and on my cock as you fucked me in your bed. It had only been a day or two since we were alone together and I foolishly wondered just why the fuck I was even waiting, hoping...Then you finally shuffled in, late as usual, smiling that sheepish grin with your eyes darting straight to me as you spotted our table in the back of the pub.  
  
Those eyes watched my every move as the lot of us sat there talking rubbish, or rather, the rest of them were talking. I didn't say much and as I recall, you didn't really have much to say either until someone brought up the new songs and surprisingly, even then your remarks were sparse and your eyes did nothing but follow me intently as you spoke. Each time my gaze would float back up in an attempt to focus on something else, to even chug my beer, I felt your smoldering glare—that _look_ —boring into me, making my cheeks burn and my groin stir as I literally squirmed in my seat.  
  
It wasn't until you dropped Matthieu off, then minutes later pulled up in front of my house that you finally spoke, asking for more beer, of all things. I'm almost bloody positive neither of us needed more. I was nearly drunk, not stupid—I knew what you really wanted. Of course, I said yes and of course, we both knew no one was home and, of course, we walked quickly to my house in silence.  
To my astonishment, the moment we stepped inside you had me pinned to the front door and without saying a word you kissed me. Fiercely. It was almost as if you wanted to devour me, and I'm afraid I would be lying if I said I didn't like it—the way you held me captive up against that door.  
  
It's now minutes later and I'm smashed up against the wall in my living room, face first and breathless and you’re about to fuck me. Already your hands are on me, under my shirt, then snaking round to unbutton my jeans and I don't protest. Just the sound of you pulling my zipper down is dizzying and when you open my jeans, a strained whisper of an expletive under your breath escapes as you discover I'm not wearing shorts underneath. I suppose you could say I've been thinking of you all too often and I've wanted this just as much as you.  
  
You lean forward and press your body into mine, and I can feel your hardness up against me. You nuzzle your face into my hair, kiss my ear and murmur, “So fucking perfect.” And I tremble, my heart pounding in my chest so hard I barely hear you utter those words.  
  
Your breathing is heavy and quick behind me and you push my jeans down further on my thighs and your hands glide over them sweeping upward until your one hand is on my cock and I gasp, shutting my eyes tightly. I'm utterly helpless now and I whimper into the wall as you touch me.  
  
“Simon...” That simple whisper of my name is wavering and strained and so telling. It's as if you'd been waiting all evening to have me like this.  
  
I hear the sound of your zipper and your trousers hitting the floor, and before I can even open my eyes again, I cry out as you suddenly shove your cock into me from behind. I have to hold my breath to adjust to your invasion and you stop, only for a brief moment to compose yourself and then slowly begin to push yourself deeper.  
  
“Ro-” But I don't get the chance to say your name as you pull out and shove yourself into me again, sending my body into the wall, your hands holding my hips firmly. You moan into my ear and pull me back into you and as you thrust forward into me again, you hit that spot at last, and it's enough to drive me mad—it always does—and I moan as if in pain, but you know better. You begin to move inside me and your moans turn into those soft grunts as you fuck me faster. Your thrusts push me into the wall again and again and my body is burning and my palms are sweaty and they slip on the hard surface in front of me.  
  
“Fuck,” You grumble breathlessly into my ear, “You feel so fucking good...”  
  
I can hardly breathe and my legs nearly buckle at your words as you continue to thrust into me hard. I want to say something—anything, but I’m on the verge of delirium and you whisper once again, making me almost come at the sound of your voice as you’re inside me.  
~~  
~~ “Kiss me...” You command and at this very moment I'll do whatever the fuck you want and you know it. Once again I'm being held captive by you and you have no fucking idea just how good it feels.  
  
I turn my head and our mouths find each other and your tongue snakes out until it finally slides through my parted lips. Our kisses are slick and wet and hungry as you drive into me and my cock is throbbing, and it's then that what I had hoped and prayed for suddenly happens: I moan in your mouth and turn my face away into the wall as you stroke me. It's harsh and quick, but both of us are too lost in this to care.  
~~  
~~ “Robert! Fuck!” I cry out and your hand just won't stop and I know I'm going to come all over it as you fuck me. I've never been this turned on, I've never felt this dirty sneaking away for you to have me like this—so hot and so hard, wanting all of this. All of _you_.  
  
“Please!” I whisper in between my breathless moans. I have to hear you, I have to feel you first, “Come inside me...”  
~~  
~~ You gasp suddenly at my words and pull out of me completely, only to ram yourself back in and you whisper shakily under your breath, “Ohh... F-fuck!” You ram into me again, your trembling hands moving to my hips and your fingers dig into my flesh as your orgasm quickly overtakes you. I instantly feel your body tense against my back and you whimper as you explode inside of me and just like that—just the sound of you coming, your whimpers and groans as you release yourself inside me—is enough, and I succeed in immediately coming hard in my own hand, exploding everywhere, crying out with you inside me, your hands still under my shirt.  
  
I suddenly can't feel my legs and I can’t hear anything except for a loud buzzing in my ears. I can still feel your chest against my back and it’s heaving as is mine, and my body can do nothing else but slowly slide down the wall with you still clutching me, somehow. I make it down to the floor, barely pull up my jeans and turn to sit, leaning back into the wall.  
~~~~  
My head finally falls back and I cough and I've absolutely no idea how much time has gone by before I hear your voice.  
  
“Simon?” You ask quietly.  
  
After a few long moments of simply trying to breathe, I answer, “Yeah?”  
  
“You—” You hesitate, trying to catch your breath as well, “your bedroom.”  
  
“Huh?” I honestly don’t know what it is you’re talking about now. Your voice sounds like it’s near, but I can’t tell. I'm literally disorientated after the best fuck of my life so it's no bloody wonder I can't put two and two together.  
  
“Shall we go upstairs?” You ask.  
  
“Mmm-hmm...” I just want to fall asleep right here on the nice, cold floor, but soon have second thoughts. I reckon that it would be quite the fucking shocker for Mum and Dad to come through the front door and see their son with his male lover—Robert, of all people—in my arms, jeans around my thighs dozing in the foyer.  
  
“Yeah, We...we sh-should go.” I pull myself together and away from the wall and attempt to stand, finally noticing you beside me. I extend my hand to help you up and almost laugh foolishly at my own gesture. A guilty feeling creeps into my mind and I begin to wonder just how many times I should’ve offered my hand to Carol...I’ve got to stop. I shouldn’t be thinking like this, especially now.  
  
You take my hand and we both sigh as we turn our heads towards what seems like a colossal, never-ending staircase looming before us, that on any other day, if we were sober we wouldn’t even give a toss about climbing.


	13. They'll Never Know

The mattress shifts and it wakes me. My eyes crack open for a moment and I realize it’s very late, or perhaps just too bloody early, but not yet light out. I feel your body move behind me and I quickly close my eyes again and that’s when I unexpectedly feel your fingers lightly trace over my hair and onto the side of my face as I lie there facing away from you, feigning sleep with my heart racing at just the thought of what you’ll do next.  
  
We’ve only slept in the same bed together three times. The first time was so long ago, I can only reckon it was around the time when we first met. I was so pissed one night I could hardly stand, and you saw to it that I made it home safe. I vaguely remember you helping me into bed, _your_ bed, where we innocently slept the night away, awakening the next morning grumpy and hungover. Then my mind flashes back to the second and third time, both with such different motives and outcomes than the first—fucking me in my brother's old bedroom in my parents' basement, which now strangely feels like a lifetime ago, and of course nearly a week ago when you had me in your bed once again and fucked me senseless in it. I didn’t stay that night. I couldn’t. It wouldn’t have been the right thing to do. Although now that I think about it, never mind just the sleeping bit, was fucking in your bed the right thing to do as well? I already know the answer to my own daft question and I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a complete and utter wanker.  
  
Even so, the next afternoon I remember you seeking me out. The endless phone calls and much to my astonishment, finally driving over quite miffed that I hadn’t responded to you and that I hadn’t stayed that night as well. Honestly, what else could I have stayed for apart from the fucking, which I would’ve enjoyed and I’m sure you would have just as much it seems, but other than that, what else was there? Things have changed between us. We don’t see each other much, only when you corner me to have sex. But perhaps that’s really my own fault as I don’t seem to be available to you as a friend like I used to be and I’m not quite sure why.  
  
Your hand slowly moves from the side of my head to my shoulder. I feel your breath near my ear as your lips hover over it and I expect your preparing to say something as I lie there, eavesdropping.  
  
“I love you.” It’s the smallest, tiniest whisper and though it’s something you’ve said to me before, it’s almost as if you don’t want me to hear it again. I'm not so sure if I should.  
  
The covers rustle and just like that, you’re quickly up and you move to the foot of the bed and as I crack my eyes open again, for the first time ever, my gaze is drawn to your ample ass whilst you bend over to rummage about on the floor for your shorts. It's then that for a few fleeting moments, I actually stop and give your body a good going over and I can't quite believe that I'm now noticing you in this way. My eyes move from your ass up to your chest and straight away I notice your skin and the light tufts of hair sprinkled about, yet your shoulders and neck are like silk and I sometimes find myself burying my face in the crook of it just to smell you and kiss you when you’re on top of me, your soft moans and grunts of pleasure making me want to come as you penetrate me and fuck me. Shit. My cock stirs and my eyes fly open at those thoughts.  
  
I spring up from my pillow as you're midway through sliding on your shorts to go across the hall and have a slash, but you stop dead at my sudden movement.  
  
“Simon, what is it?” You ask.  
  
“I-I’m… Y-you...” Apparently, I'm no longer drunk, I've just turned into a stuttering tosser instead, and for some reason I’m feeling overwhelmed—I can hardly speak. This is all just too fucking much. I roll over and bury my face in the other pillow, _your_ pillow, and breathe you in. I can't even kick you out of my own, sodding bed.  
  
My sigh turns into a sob and I finally just come out and say it, much to my horror.  
  
“Get out.”  
  
I don’t hear a sound and only moments later a thud and a sharp pain to my skull literally jars me from my thoughts as your fist hits the side of my head hard. I merely sink my face into your pillow deeper and close my eyes tight and wait for the next blow. I honestly can’t blame you for wanting to bash me in my thick, fucking skull.  
  
“You little—” You're furious and I can hear you hold back a sob. There’s a rustling sound and you hit me again, but not quite as hard. Still hurts, but I still don’t take my face out of the pillow. I don’t even have the bollocks to fight you. I’m such a bloody coward I can’t even look at you.  
  
“Look at me!!” You boom, your voice shaking, “Simon!!” You know I won’t.  
  
Your hands are on me pulling at my shoulders, trying to pry me away from the pillow, but I only press into it harder. “No!!” My cry is muffled and you try grappling at my bare shoulders again, your hands slipping on my skin as I squirm away from you and I roll to the other side of the bed, but you don’t stop, you follow me and this time I feel your open hand clip my head and it stings.  
  
“Robert! No!!” I shout, and you hit me again even harder and my head is ringing.  
  
“ _Fuck you!!!”_ You yell, but it doesn’t sound like you at all. You’re frenzied and you try to hit me again, but I manage to dodge your blow.  
  
Suddenly there’s a sharp knock on my bedroom door and a familiar voice on the other side calls my name as you stand there with your arm pulled back, ready to clobber me some more and I cower beneath you.  
  
“Simon?!” The voice calls. The both of us freeze and hold our breath. “Simon!! Is everything—Is that—is that Robert in there?!”  
  
I clutch the covers to my naked body and wait in terror for the door to fly open, but that doesn’t happen, thank Christ. She’s simply waiting for an answer.

  
I clear my throat, “Eh, Mum?” I ask as calmly and as timidly as I can.  
  
“Yes, ‘course it’s Mum! What’s going on in there? Is everything alright?!”  
  
“Y-yeah,” Think of something, you twat, “Eh, Rob-Robert just fell out of bed. Hurt his, umm...ankle.”  
  
“Fell out of... _out of bed_?” She sounds just as confused as I am and I can’t even imagine what she must be thinking at this point. I finally look up at you and you merely glare back at me.  
  
“Fuck.” You mutter.  
  
“Well, is he okay?” Mum asks.  
  
I look down at the floor quickly, “He-he’ll live.” Unfortunately, I don’t think I will for much longer.  
  
“Right.” She sounds somewhat convinced, to my relief, “Well, I’m going back down. Your father and I are trying to sleep. Keep the noise down, please.”  
  
“Yeah, sure. Sorry.” I call weakly.  
  
You’re still standing there and I know you still want to kill me. Without even looking up I can feel the anger and the hatred shoot from your eyes, burning right through me.  
  
“I-I’m just…I can’t…” I can’t finish and when I open my gob to try again, nothing comes out.  
  
I don't dare move and you’re still standing over me and before I can blink I feel your hand on my mouth, squeezing it, and you yank my face up, but I refuse to open my eyes and I clench them tighter. I can feel my teeth digging into my cheeks from your grip and it hurts, then from out of nowhere I feel your mouth crash down on mine, but it’s nothing like the hungry passion I’ve felt from you before. This is harsh, almost savage. You shove me back down hard and I try to push you off me, but you keep kissing me—if that’s what you call it. I’m being smothered by your mouth and your body and I know it’s deliberate.  
~~  
~~ You break away and I instantly gasp as your forearm comes across my throat and you hold me down. I can’t breathe and at this point I’m choking and my hands come up and pull at your arm, but it’s pointless. You're growl is vicious. You don’t give a toss and tonight was the last straw. You press your erection to me and mumble something aloud and my desperate protest is immediately and forcefully cut off by your hand coming up onto my mouth, but it’s not like that night in your den when you tossed me off and I came hard as you gently muffled my whimpers of pleasure, this time your hand is over my nose as well. It’s calculated and once again, I can’t breathe. I try to inhale and I’m still squirming, moving my head violently from side to side but it’s no use, you’re not giving in. I bite down on your flesh and you yelp in surprise, instantly moving your hand away from my mouth and I greedily suck in air and gasp as I feel it now wrap tightly around my throat.  
~~~~  
I wish I could cry out, but I won’t and you know it. What would my parents say when they open the door to their son’s room and they see you on top of me in a rage, trying to strangle me to death?

My arms are flailing and the bed is moving, banging against the wall as I try and escape your smothering grasp and the weight of your body pinning me down. I’m becoming light-headed and my ears are ringing and when I open my eyes my vision is white and fuzzy around the edges, and much to my astonishment, I have a hard-on. Your hand loosens just enough and I can finally take in a breath, but my throat feels as if it’s caved in from the pressure.  
  
“No! Stop!” I’m sobbing desperately, and tears are spilling down my face, yet my cock is as hard as ever.

I choke and I try to swallow as your movement slows and your death grip loosens completely, and your hand slides down to my shoulder. I feel you bury your face into my chest and you nuzzle it, your tears wetting my skin and your breathless sobs finally register in my ringing ears and you slide off my body and finally settle beside me.  
  
“Shit!” Your sorrowful whisper resonates along with our harsh breathing and you clutch my shoulder, burying your face deeper and an uncontrollable bellow leaves your lips as you realize how out of control you’ve become.  
  
“Robert…” I manage to mumble, still sobbing. My throat is burning and aching and my declaration is a hoarse grumble in between my labored breathing. “I-I love you...”  
  
And there it bloody well is, mate.  
  
But it's too little too fucking late, isn't it? How can anything I say even matter now?


	14. They'll Never Know

I feel as if you’ve strangled me to death. Maybe you should have, after all, I was starting to enjoy it, wasn’t I?  
  
I fucking hate myself.  
  
My throat is sore and burning, much like the side of my head and that’s when I moan aloud and cringe. I try and convince myself that all this hasn't been real—it’s all been a bloody, fucking nightmare, but it doesn’t seem to be working.

  
I still feel your presence, your warmth up against my body, and with that I turn on my side away from you and wipe my face as I start to blub. I can’t let you see me like this. I’m tired of being so weak and useless.  
  
“Simon,” Your whisper is shameful and so very cautious now, “I’m-I…” Your words drift off into silence. You can’t even say it and I completely understand. Nothing you can say would change what’s happened, but I’m not stupid, I know I drove you to it. Come to think of it, I really am stupid though because once again, everything is my own stupid, bloody fault.  
  
I just know this is the bloody end, and my chest tightens and my stomach drops at that thought. But even after all the terrible things we’ve done to each other I still feel the same about you as I always have; captivated, confused, bewildered, attracted to and fucking turned on by you like nothing else. Like no one else. I fucking love you...like _that_.  
  
I feel movement behind me and I groan, my throat still aching and by now, probably bruised from your vice-like grip, but I don’t care. I deserve every bit of what's happened to me, and I know the only chance I’ve got is to convince you of something I should have admitted to months ago.  
  
“Robert, do-do you remember...?” I take a deep, trembling breath and continue, “what I said to you behind the pub that night?” If I know you and I think I do quite well, you’ll always remember that night, that moment, “I just-I want you to know, I remember it.” I stop and try to breathe.

I know you don't think I recall anything about that evening, but you're wrong. I've been a lying, dodgy bastard up until now.  
  
“I remember all of it.” I admit again, “What I said—it-it's true.”  
  
“ _What???”_ I hear your stunned whisper behind me.  
  
We say absolutely nothing for the longest, most terrifying moment of my life, then much to my surprise I hear you whisper.  
  
“I don’t-why didn't you—?” You can’t even finish your sentence, you’re stumbling over your words and I’m trying to figure out if you’re confused, shocked or angry, and when I roll over to sit up and gather enough courage to look at you, I’m willing to wager it’s all three.  
  
You’re staring at me with your mouth slightly open and I reckon you want to ask why I never admitted to remembering that night, but no sound comes out and your body doesn’t move either. It’s as if you’re frozen into place.  
  
I've never admitted to saying _those three words_ to you, but what happened that night has never left my mind and I suppose you could also say I've never admitted to starting this whole, bloody mess either. I knew exactly what I was doing when I left the pub and escaped round the back. How could I forget you finally seeking me out in the alley to see if I was still alive and not lying face down in my own vomit? I was drunk and perhaps looked a bit peaky and needed some air, but I wasn’t as bad off as I pretended to be. I’m not even sure if you realized just the way you were looking at me all evening, but I fucking well did. It was more than obvious and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like that feeling.  
  
I’ll never forget pulling you into me up against that wall, and I’ll never forget the very first time you kissed me—how it felt when your lips touched mine and how your tongue cautiously entered my mouth as your hand desperately wandered down my back and eventually groped my ass. I didn’t want any of it to end, but I knew we had to stop. What if someone spotted us together like that? As I recall, you didn’t seem to care and you more than bloody likely would’ve taken it further right then and there if I’d let you.  
  
Then of course, my mind flashes forward to the worst fucking night of my life which is right here in my own room. I realize what’s just happened between us isn’t the only reason we’re both bloody crying, and I can’t help but suddenly wonder what things would have been like if I were a different person. All too often in my life I’ve wished I was someone else, but right now I don’t wish I was anything—except maybe dead.  
  
“Robert?” I ask quietly, “I’m sorry.” I finally say as clearly as I can, but I'm beginning to panic all over again.  
  
“Simon, stop...” I hear you, but your whisper is so frail and hopeless that when I close my eyes it just doesn’t sound like you at all. My eyes flash over to you as you sit up and I watch intently as your slumped form sinks down on my bed and I still can’t take my gaze from you. As you slowly lean forward and bury your face in your hands your sigh turns into a soft sob and I watch in horror as your shoulders begin to shake.  
  
Would it be stupid if I said I wish I could reach out and touch you right now?  
  
“Robert, I love you.” I mutter quietly, “I do.”  
  
“No.” Your somber voice is muffled by your hands.”No, you don’t. No one does.” You mumble.  
  
“What??” I can’t quite believe what you’re saying. I’ve never heard you speak like this. I don't like it and I want to tell you just how wrong you really are.  
  
“Robert, I don’t unders—”  
  
“No...She’s gone.” Your whisper cuts me off. You wipe your eyes and your face and simply stare at the floor in front of you.  
  
There’s nothing I can do but sit here in disbelief at what you’ve just uttered, but it couldn’t be. The love of your life has left you. It can’t be.  
  
I feel absolutely gutted looking at you as you stare sadly, straight ahead at nothing. I should’ve turned around and gone back home straight away that night instead of barging into your house like a complete wanker. Who the fuck was I to come between the both of you? My bollocky bass could have waited. I had no business being there and I knew it that night, yet there I bloody well was.  
  
The love of your life has gone. What would you say if I told you I wished I was—No. Never mind.  
  
I’m staring at you now and I can’t take it —so much heartbreak in your eyes, but they still manage to pull me in. I want to tell you you’re fucking beautiful. You must know it's true.  
  
Your eyes close tightly and you shake your head and begin to rise off the bed—to leave me.  
  
I take your hand and gently pull you towards me, but you don’t budge. I clear my throat and my eyes are still glued to your face, “You’re so—you're beautiful.” I blurt out, clumsily. You've no idea how much I mean it and just like that I'm blushing.  
  
Some fucking impeccable timing I have, don't I?  
  
Your hand moves up and quickly covers your eyes, wiping the tears from them as you try and speak.

 

“I shouldn’t have—I just should have known this wasn’t right, and I-I’m so fucking sorry.” You take a deep breath and try to gain composure, composure that you’ve always maintained until now, but I’ve driven you to such frustration and anger you’ve had no choice but to give up. Maybe you should have just killed me earlier. I’m almost certain we both would have been better off.  
  
You sniff and move towards the small pile of clothes at the foot of the bed.  
  
“Robert, no!” I nearly shout and you stop, shrinking back as if I’d hit you.  
  
You open your mouth and close it again hastily before you look at me as a sad smile appears, and those eyes—I can’t take looking at you like this, but my pleading has had no effect on you—you’ve already pulled on your trousers and jumper and your eyes scan the room as if in a trance as you look for your trainers.  
  
I’m now standing in front of you wide-eyed, crazed, out of breath and completely naked with the sheet still wrapped round my waist. My hands are clammy and my throat is sore and aching and I need a fucking cigarette. I can’t believe I’m begging you. What will I do if you leave? I look down at the floor and suddenly mumble.  
  
“I...what will I do if you leave?!” and I feel as if I’d been kicked in the stomach as my own desperate thought makes itself known to you. I can’t even look at you anymore and my gaze remains glued to the cold, hard floor beneath my feet.  
  
You remain completely silent as I hear you sit back down on the bed—but I know you’re not sitting there to talk to me, as I reckon that time has passed, hasn't it? You're only tying your laces to walk out of here. I feel as though I suddenly can’t breathe, it’s like a crushing weight has been placed on my chest that I can’t escape.

I hear a soft sigh and when I do finally look up, you completely dismiss me, passing by my motionless body as if I wasn’t even there and you cross the room. You don’t say a word as you open the door and oddly enough, I see you stop for a moment and look at the bookcase against the wall and you listlessly slide my pack of fags that have been sitting there into your trouser pocket, then quietly shut the door behind you.  
  
***      ***      ***  
  
Wish I fucking imagined that you nicked my cigarettes just before walking out of here, but I know my eyes hadn't played tricks on me and I can do nothing but stare at the door in amazement at the stunt you've just pulled. Suppose I wouldn't mind so much if I'd had a job and some dosh, but lately I've had neither, so it's no wonder I've got the hump about it now.  
  
I curse under my breath, drop the sheet from my body and quickly find my shorts, barely pulling them up and over my todger as I swing open the bedroom door and race down the hallway after you.  
  
“Bloody hell!” I shout, and turn the corner and begin to thump down the staircase just as you just reach the bottom.”Fuck you!” I shout again down into the foyer, but you don't answer or look back as you reach the front door.  
  
By now, Mum's heard my racket and she's standing beside you in her dressing gown, bewildered at the sight of her bruised, crazed, half naked son on a rampage in the wee hours of the morning. And sure enough, even through all my commotion, you manage to greet her pleasantly in passing, still so utterly drop-dead charming—just like you always are—ignoring the lunatic chasing down the stairs after you. But Mum has no clue as to why I'm so barmy, she doesn't know that you've taken what's rightfully mine—my fags and my fucking sanity.  
  
“Get back here!” I continue to bark, taking two steps down at a time until I stumble, my feet sliding out from under me and I skid down the staircase on my bumbling arse as Mum looks on in horror.  
  
“What the fuck?!” I'm still yelling as I scramble back up and race out of the house following close behind you down the front walk and it doesn't matter, you still don't hear me—I might as well not even exist, but I reckon you'll hear me well enough when I give you a good fucking clip round the ear though, won't you? I lunge forward and knock you in the back of the head with my fist and that's when you stumble, but you don't fall. You're just standing there perfectly still, but I can see your shoulders moving up and down hard from your breathing. My blow must've snapped you out of it.  
  
“What the fuck, Robert?!” I'm still yelling, probably waking up the entire neighborhood, then again, maybe not. I've no idea what time it is, “Give 'em back!”  
  
My chest is heaving from running after you and my blasted tailbone is throbbing from bumping it on my way down the stairs. I rub my hands together and can see my breath from the cold and suddenly realize I'm shoeless, clad only in shorts and, of course, now I'm fucking freezing.  
  
You still haven't moved, “Give what back?” You ask dismally.  
  
“You know very well what!” I hiss.  
  
“No, I don't.”  
  
If you can't be bothered, then why don't you just stop titting about? You don't even really smoke, anyway.  
  
“My fucking fags!”  
  
“Oh...” You say quietly and begin to walk off.  
  
Clearly, you've lost your bloody fucking mind. I'm convinced of it.  
  
“What the fuck???!!!” I start to walk after you and when you stop suddenly and turn to face me I jump back, keeping my arms at my sides and my fists ready as I don't know what to expect from your bizarre behavior.  
  
Honestly, I'm starting to wonder who the real nutter is here.  
  
When I dare to look up to catch sight of your eyes I'm completely thrown by the tears in them threatening to spill over. I've no clue as to what I should do now, so I do nothing but just stand there, silent and still until you speak again, jarring me from your gaze.  
  
“Have them.” You finally say, flatly and much to my surprise, you reach into your pocket and carelessly let the pack slide out of your hand and drop to the ground.  
  
“Robert, what the...?!” But I can't even finish because you've already turned away from me and your head is down as you walk to the curb and mechanically, as if in a daze, you get into your car.


	15. They'll Never Know

I glare at the phone hanging on the kitchen wall that's been oddly silent for days. You're still not home after nearly a fortnight, but I know you’re lying or, rather, your family is lying for you. I’ve known you well enough to know your habits: when you usually head out for the evening and when you usually come home. Guess that’s a tad creepy though, isn’t it?  
  
I light a fag and as Dad comes into the room he manages to cast a look before I can turn away. That’s been happening a lot in this house; those peculiar looks directed to no one else but me and hushed conversations as I turn a corner or walk into a room. I want to ask why, but I don't reckon I need to since Mum and half the neighborhood saw my ridiculous display, bruised and wild-eyed chasing after you half naked out into the cold.  
  
Even worse, I've barely left my room. Most days I just sit upstairs, smoke my life away and think—mainly about you, and the last moment I looked up at your face; the last moment I watched you walk out of my shit life forever. Haven't been able to get that out of my mind, and I haven't changed my sheets since that night either. I know it seems pretty ludicrous, but I even after all this time, I swear I can still smell your scent in my bed.  
  
I know what they're thinking, and of course,  the bruises on my neck and face which Mum's seen, but hasn't asked about, are pretty obvious. At this point I think she knows better than to mention it at all.  
  
No one will ever know, eh?  
  
Fuck. I don’t care anymore. Why should I?  
  
I take a long drag of my cigarette and Dad's voice stirs me out of my bloody hopeless thoughts.  
  
“’Bout time you got out of the house for a change, Simon.” He booms, and chucks the newspaper on the counter.  
  
Guess the whole world can tell I’m a miserable bastard too. I don’t fucking care about that either.  
  
“Yeah, sure.” I mutter, stubbing out my fag in the ashtray and downing the rest of my tea, “Dad, lend me a tenner.”  
  
“Simon.” He shakes his head and sighs, his voice irritated, “Get a job, will you?” He reluctantly hands over the cash and I wordlessly take it, stuffing it into my jacket pocket without so much as a bloody thanks.  
  
“Yeah, working on it.” I grumble and throw the backdoor open and quickly step out into the cold darkness alone.  
  
***      ***      ***  
  
I pay the taxi driver and reluctantly get out and scan the front entrance of the club. I curse out loud and suddenly think I should have gone anyplace else but here—even could've saved a couple of bob if I'd stayed local. Certainly would have been able to drink more, but at this point there aren't too many options left and groveling for my old spot back in Lockjaw is going to have to be one of them. I have to find Martin or Steve inside and beg them, and if that doesn't work then the only alternative is to get my old job back at the factory.  
  
One hell worse than the fucking next.

After ordering a whiskey at the bar, then finally finding out that the band has completely dissolved and Martin and Steve are nowhere to be found, I shake my head and mutter aloud in disbelief. I don't blame them for leaving this shit place, and maybe I'm just a tad jealous at hearing that, but as for me and my fate, I'm going to need much more alcohol to deal with just how fucked I really am.  
  
“Fuck.” I say out loud to no one but myself and order another drink, knocking that one back just as quick and as I lean forward to order yet another, my shoulder is nudged violently from out of the blue, causing me to almost lose my grip on the glass and whiskey sloshes over the top and spills onto the counter.  
  
“'Cor! What the bloody—!” I yell, highly annoyed. I can't afford to be spilling alcohol. Come to think of it, at the rate I'm knocking 'em back I may not be able to afford a way home tonight—most definitely not if it includes petrol. But that just makes me order another.  
  
Sod it.

“Oi, Simon!”  
  
Fucking Matty?  
  
“Bastard!” The voice chuckles and I want to turn round and just fucking punch it.  
  
He chuckles again and just stands there. Seems as if he's pissed already, “Fucking mad you are! Haven't—”  
  
“Right.” I say flatly, cutting him off, “Gotta go.” I bolt up from the stool. I just want to be left alone to get shit-faced.  
  
Not even a moment passes when who else comes strolling in but Lol, and my eyes dart about the room like a madman's. I know the bleeding drill here. These days, wherever Lol is you're bound to turn up, at least eventually. Now I've _really_ got to get the fuck out of here, but as it turns out it's much too bloody late for that.  
  
As expected, you're right behind the bastard with your precious girlfriend, much to my surprise, in tow. Your shock of dark hair is the first thing I see, but then your face turns upwards and your eyes cause me to look a moment too long and they instantly lock onto mine and then flash away.  
  
Fucking hell.  
  
My eyes dart about again and I see that my only way out is now blocked by the both of you. By this time Lol spots me and begins to approach, while you avoid me and Mary just glares at me and shakes her head. What the fuck does _that_ mean? Oh, that's right! Some months ago I seem to recall you telling her you fucked me, more than once, if I'm not mistaken. Like it’s all my bloody fault; turning you on to blokes. Right.  
  
You probably told her you sucked my cock as well. Or maybe I sucked yours? I bet you didn't mention how badly you wanted to fuck my mouth, did you? Or how hard you came when you fucked me up against that wall from behind. Bet you never told her how you've called out my name in desperation as you came inside me in the very same bed you've fucked her. Bet you never told her that. No, not the love of your fucking life.  
  
On second thought, maybe you did. Honestly, I could see you getting off on that, you perverted bastard.  
  
My blood is beginning to boil.  
  
I can't look at you anymore. I've no other choice but to turn the other way, and I race towards the loo where I finally make it inside and close the door. My hands are shaking and I reach into my jacket pocket for a cigarette and I can barely hold the match steady to light the blasted thing.  
  
As I stand against the door and smoke, my mind begins to swirl and it suddenly dawns on me that after all this time only two things are certain at this point in my life. The first is that I'm utterly penniless, and the second is that I'm nothing but a fucking whore. Technically, more like _your_ whore, and let's face it, if you called me for a quick shag I'm sure I'd come running, wouldn't I? Haven't I?  
  
It's a wonder I'd never considered charging you to fuck me. Would've been the smart thing to do since I'm pretty much destitute, but I reckon it's too late now and I was never the enterprising type anyway. Not like you. I'm certain if you were in my shoes you'd have some system already sorted. You always had more of a head for business—just look how you've stockpiled all your gear. You know exactly what you're doing.  
  
“Ha!” I laugh out loud, throw my fag into the toilet and light another, finally coming to the realization that everything you've ever said to me has been utter cack. You love me about as much as you love a good, fucking kick in the teeth and I know I'll never see you again, never mind my fucking bass. You're finished with me, just like that. Done with dick and back on to pussy, like it was nothing. _Like I was nothing…_


	16. They'll Never Know

I take another drag of my cigarette, not even realizing that I'm just staring down into the filthy toilet, and my head is swimming with thoughts and images of you and my pathetic excuse of a life as it flashes before my moistening eyes.  
  
Sod it.  
  
Suppose I really should start charging blokes to fuck me. Worth a try anyway, just to make enough money for train fare to leave this town. After all, I've got nothing in this shite world to lose and I'm experienced, aren't I? Already been your whore, so who says I couldn't be someone else's? I'd just lie there and take a cock up my ass for a few bob, or maybe suck a few. I reckon I was good at that, at least you seemed to think so. Doesn't mean I'd have to like it. I don't think most whores do. I'd just need some beers to get through it. Probably a lot of beers, actually.  
  
I'm sure it wouldn't be anything like being with you.  
  
Fuck!  
  
I have to stop. What's happened between us is done. I shouldn't be thinking of you. I should be thinking about finding a way out of this shithole as I can't possibly hide in here all night. The only other gents is round the other side and you're bound to want to take a piss in here eventually, and trying to escape past you and your girlfriend is out of the question.  
  
I'm fucking trapped.  
  
I hear voices and doors slamming from outside and my head snaps up toward the noise. I stand up on my toes and peer over the stall and spot the small window on the opposite wall just across from the sinks. It's perfect, and thankfully, it's already propped open from the lingering stench in here, no doubt, which saves me a bit of effort as I won't have to pry it open.  
  
It's the only bloody way for me to disappear without a trace.  
  
I chuck my fag into the toilet, turn the latch on the stall door, poke my head out and take one last glance round the room for any blokes wandering in for a piss, or to take a fucking dump, or worse yet, _you_ …and at the moment, I consider myself lucky as there's no one. I quickly make it over to the window, climb on top of the sinks and hoist myself up into the opening. My arms and shoulders squeeze past, but I quickly discover that I'm stuck halfway through at the waist with my legs left dangling.  
  
Leave it to my shit luck…  
  
I grumble aloud and my feet scrape at the wall below, trying to find enough leverage to push through and that's when I also discover through the dim light that the large object directly below the window outside appears to be a fucking dumpster, but at this point I can't quite tell if there's anything in it.  
  
“Fuck!” My voice echoes out into the alleyway and I seriously consider just letting myself drop back into the empty room so I can smoke some more and think of another brilliant fucking plan, being the mastermind that I am, but the room doesn't remain empty for long.  
  
“Simon?”  
  
Shit luck once again.  
  
Only you would be able to tell it was me just from my arse and I almost laugh hysterically out loud at that realization. I don't answer and carry on. I have to make it out of here and away from you and I don't care if it means landing face first in a mountain of rubbish to do it.  
  
“Simon! What—what the fuck are you doing?!” You ask, exasperated. You may pretend to sound concerned, but I know what you're really thinking. You don't fool me.  
  
“The fuck does it look like?!” I shout back in frustration. “Getting the fuck out of here!” And I suddenly feel your hands on my feet pulling at them and I kick at you to throw you off, but it's no use and your hands move quickly to my legs and you’re pulling at me again.  
  
“Get-get off!” I growl. My legs are flailing and I'm trying to hold on to the sill with half my body still hanging out of the tiny open space, but I'm getting winded. Too many blasted cigarettes.  
  
My feet hit a solid mass hard and I know I've kicked you a few times. It probably hurts, but you still grapple for me. I'm cursing at you and I can hear you doing the same, when at last, after one final effort I fall, just as expected, head first and soon realize the metal bin is empty as I hit the bottom hard with a loud, sharp thud.  
  
The stench is unbelievable and I gag, almost vomiting as I try and right myself which isn't going as quickly as I'd like—the sudden plummet to the bottom has knocked the wind out of me. I finally stand and notice two blokes near a narrow doorway smoking and I try calling out to them, but they only carry on talking amongst themselves as if I wasn't even there. Wankers probably witnessed me falling from the window in the first place, so why should I think they'd help me now? I'm just another drunk tosser to them.  
  
I hear familiar footsteps approaching quickly and I duck back down into the horrible stench and hold my breath, hoping you don't see me, but it doesn't work like I'd planned. Nothing in my life ever fucking does. You're so close I hear you breathing above me and I know you're looking down at me now, but I don't move. I can't.  
  
“What are—why are you doing this?” You ask, confused and slightly winded.  
  
I don't even know how to answer that.  
  
I slowly stand and look at you. Your hair is rumpled, your cheeks are flushed and your eyes meet mine. I wish I could tell you how amazing you look right now, but I quickly shake that distraction from my mind. I can never bloody stop when it comes to you, can I?  
  
I clear my throat and try to speak casually, as if standing in a stinking, putrid trash bin was something I looked forward to, “I-I'm...umm.”  
  
“What?” You ask desperately, and your eyes search my face for an answer, but you won't get one.

“Robert…” I finally manage, “Leave me alone.” I mean it this time, but I still can't stop looking at you. I can't stop thinking about you. I feel as if I've gone mad.  
  
You don't move and at this point I'm utterly convinced that killing you is the only way to put an end to this bloody nightmare. It's not like those yobs standing in the doorway would react to a murder anyway, so why not give it a go? My eyes desperately scan the floor for anything that I could use to bash your skull in, but it's hopeless.  
  
The only other option is to get out and after several unsuccessful tries, I finally pull myself up and as soon as I feel your hands on my arms I can't take it.  
  
“ _Stop!!!”_ I yell. Your help is the last thing I need, and as I try to shake you from me I teeter over the wall of the bin and fall to the ground on my side. “Fuck!!” I yell again and stand slowly and unsteadily. My entire body hurts and I don't want you touching me anymore, “Stop fucking touching me!!!” I sob loudly, and without warning I lunge forward and push you.  
  
You fall backwards into the wall and your gaze slowly turns up to meet mine and you're stunned, but I sense something else in your expression just below the surface and if I'm not mistaken its anger. You're not going to let this go.  
  
You take a step forward and before I even realize it your open hand strikes my face, hard. It's the hardest you've ever hit me and I'm knocked back by your blow into the opposite wall. This is bloody mental. I have to get out of here now and I realize the one bloke getting into his car at the curb is the only option I have left to save myself.  
  
I'm at a full run by the time I reach the end of the alley and I quickly approach his car and call out, “Oi! Gimme a lift!”  
  
He stops short, lights a fag and looks me over as I stand outside his car, breathless and shaking. He seems as if he's in no hurry, but I bloody well am.  
  
“Yeah, sure.” He says calmly, grinning, “Get in.”


	17. They'll Never Know

“Where you headed, then?” The bloke asks as he puts the car in gear and putters away.  
  
I don’t answer at first as I’m too busy looking out the window to see if you’re daft enough to follow me, but there’s no one, thank Christ. Now maybe I can leave this town in peace.  
  
“Eh?” He flashes his hand before my face as if to snap me out of it.  
  
“Er, yeah. I-I don’t…” And my voice fades.

I can’t go home now. It’d be right back to the same hell from which I need to escape. It would all come circling right back around to you, wouldn’t it? I try to open my mouth again, but suddenly realize I can’t go anyplace and I’m headed absolutely nowhere, so I say the only thing that makes any sense at this point.

“Need-need a drink.” I conclude.  
  
“Yeah? Right. I know just the place.” And maybe I’m wrong, but I feel this bloke looking at me and I know he’s probably waiting for me to look over at him, but I don’t want to. I just want to get a drink. This is just a bloody ride away from here—away from you­—and it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve bummed a lift from a strange wanker.  
  
The car eventually pulls up in front of a small semi-detached house and I can see people coming and going from the front entrance, and then I hear the music that blares out into the street.  
  
“What’s your name?” The bloke asks.  
  
What the fuck does he want to know that for? I don’t want to know his, but as it turns out I tell him mine all the same. I can’t even think of a bogus one, I’m such a creative bastard.  
  
“S-Simon.” I say as we trudge up the walk.  
  
“David…” He says.  
  
I still don’t look at him—as if I fucking care.  
  
“Yeah,” I say, “Hey.”  
  
And we slip inside.  
  
***     ***     ***  
  
I find myself staring down into another fucking toilet again. Seems whatever I do I can't avoid them tonight.  
  
“No...” I mumble and my stomach lurches and I vomit, again. How can this be happening? I don't even remember eating anything today. My eyes are wet and burning and I spit into the bowl for a final time and flush with my face practically down in the fucking thing, and for some reason I wonder just how long I've been in this strange loo. I cross my arms over the seat and my head flops on top of them. I'm trying to regain my composure, but it's not bloody working. I can't do this on my own and I swear I can feel you behind me, your hands holding me up, but when I reach round to touch you, you're not there.  
  
There's no one.  
  
“Shit.” I mumble hopelessly aloud, and close my eyes.  
  
There's a loud knock and the door is pushed open.  
  
“Oi, mate.” I don't recognize the voice in the slightest, and I don't bother to look up and I'm nudged roughly by a boot-clad foot on my calf, “Gotta piss.”  
  
I immediately feel hands under my arms, gripping me, pulling me up and they pry me away from the toilet, but it's not you, is it? It doesn't feel like it. And my limp body is dragged across the room and I'm dumped out into the hallway on my arse.  
  
“Fuck.” I croak weakly, and I'm tripped over, stepped on and cursed at as I lie on my back on the dirty floor.  
  
Cheers, fuckers!  
  
I manage to catch my breath and inch my way over to the nearest wall and prop myself up against it. I take in a few long, slow breaths and finally raise my head, focusing my vision on just where it is I think I am, other than in a dingy hallway, but it's no use, I've no bloody idea.  
  
“Simon!”  
  
It's Derek or Dwayne or whatever his fucking name is, and it's the only familiar voice I've heard all night. I must look like the dog's fucking breakfast because he's just standing there with an evil grin cackling at me. Wish I could find all of this as funny as he does.  
  
“Simon! You still hanging about then?”  
  
Just where the fuck did he think I crawled off to? I've got no bloody car and public transport isn't an option because I've no fucking clue where I am in the first place. More importantly, I’m too trashed to fucking walk anywhere, anyway.  
  
My throat is burning and I manage to mutter at last, “Yeah...”  
  
I feel strong arms hoist me up and my body is pushed against the wall behind me and his face seems to zoom in until it's just inches from mine. He's so close his breath hits my face and it's dreadful. It smells like stale beer and cigarettes, although anything is probably better than what mine smells like at this stage. I'm sure it's bloody horrifying, but I honestly don't think he gives a toss because he's not moving.  
  
His eyes are just looking at me now and I notice they're blue, but they're beady and nothing like yours. I still remember that brilliant blue and the way they always pulled me in. I've never seen eyes quite like them.  
  
His low voice knocks me back into my grim reality and I blink and he asks, “How'd you get that nasty bruise, eh?” It's creepy, and I shiver and I just know he's felt that and he grins. His hand comes up to touch my jaw, but then ends up tracing my bottom lip and I just wish I could spit in the bastard's face, but I can't. I'm utterly dehydrated from my endless retching and my mouth is so dry I find it painful to even clear my throat.  
  
I don't answer and he moves in even closer and it makes me squirm, “Shame...” He says and shakes his head, “Pretty face like that shouldn't have bruises.” He's still just looking at me, but it's more of a strange glare and my eyes dart away, “Who did that to you then?” He continues, and I really wish he wouldn't.  
  
“No-no one.” I say.  
  
“...the bloke in the alley?”  
  
I don't answer. I'm not dragging you into this.  
  
“He your _boyfriend_ , then?”  
  
Is that what it looked like? Were we really that obvious?  
  
“N-No.” I say. My voice cracks and I wish I could just disappear.  
  
“No?” He pauses and another sly grin spreads across his face—it's ghastly. “Right, just as I thought.”  
  
What the fuck is he on about?  
  
“Wh-what?! No, I...” My stammer fades and the words just won't come any longer and my vision clouds over which is just as well, I hate his creepy glare, anyway. But then, strangely, it feels as if I'm beginning to dissolve away—my body slowly slides down the wall and I'm powerless to stop it.  
  
I'm passing out right in front of this fucker.  
  
***       ***       ***  
  
I wake up with a hand squeezing my cock and it bloody hurts.  
  
“Robert…” I mumble, and uselessly try to swat at your hand—or what I think is your hand, but I couldn't be more mistaken. I hear a strange moan in my ear and quickly realize it's not you at all.  
  
It's fucking what's-his-name and his hand is down my pants.  
  
He laughs at my nonsensical uttering of your name and squeezes me again, “I bet you have a pretty cock too, don't you?”  
  
“No... I-I'm...” My pulse quickens and my stomach drops and I'm in a panic and I want to ask him to drive me home, but I can barely string a sentence together, “Need to go-get home.” I finally manage to croak out.  
  
“Yeah, not yet.” Is all the bastard says and then, “Come here...” And he turns my head towards him and when I feel his mouth on mine I flinch and turn my face away. I can't let him hear the near sob that threatens to leave my sore and burning throat.  
  
I just want to go home.  
  
“Wh-what are you—?” I stammer, and he's laughing his awful laugh at my absurdness, and my jeans and shorts are now roughly pulled down to my knees and at that point I realize I don't even need to finish my question. What's the blooming point? He's going to do exactly what he wants.  
  
He's standing over me now. I don't look up, but I know he's naked. He's probably jerking himself off over me as well. Why else would I be hearing heavy breathing?  
  
“Hey,” His voice is a raspy whisper and he's becoming breathless. Good. I hope to hell he comes now so this can all be over.  
  
“Look at me...whore.” And God help me, I answer to that, and just as I thought, when I open my eyes he's completely naked with his hand on his cock, stroking himself. When my glazed and swollen eyes meet his he moans and moves in, cornering me on that bed against the headboard, practically pushing his huge cock into my face.  
  
“Put that pretty little whore's mouth on my cock.” His whisper is strained and desperate and beastly.  
  
My fucking stomach lurches. Maybe if I spewed all over his dick it might get me out of this mess, but it's too late for that, there's nothing left for me to throw up.  
  
“Go on, suck it.” He commands. It's revolting.  
  
I close my eyes, open my mouth and straightaway as soon as my lips have barely landed on it, I feel a hand in my hair, pushing my head down onto it even more and I can't help but gag, but it only wrenches a loud moan from him, making it even worse for me.  
  
“Oh, yeah,” He whispers, “Ohh, you fucking whore...”  
  
He keeps calling me that and I reckon I am now after all, aren't I?  
  
He's breathing harder and forcing my head down even further with every move I make and I can't breathe. I pull my mouth away and squirm back on the bed away from his cock, but it's no use. I'm already smashed up against the headboard as far as I can go without crawling over the fucking thing, but that doesn't stop him.  
  
He's on top of me mumbling and I'm blubbing quietly, and I helplessly slide back down the bed onto my stomach. I don't have the strength to raise myself up anymore and I bring my hand up to my mouth and gag once again, dry heaving at the very thought of what I've just done as his mouth moves down my neck and I feel his hard-on up against my ass. I know what's coming, and I look wildly round the room for something—anything­— I can use to bash him over the head with so I can nick his car, leave this hellhole and drive back to you, but then suddenly realize none of what I hope for is going to happen. I know I'll probably never see you again.  
  
“Shit!” I sob.  
  
Fuck. It doesn't matter, does it? I reckon the only thing to do is just lie here in a strange room on a strange bed, pinned beneath a strange bloke right before he fucks me in the ass. It shouldn't be much different from what I've done with you after all, and lucky for me I'm still quite wrecked when the bloke abruptly enters me from behind. I reckon under normal circumstances it should hurt more than it does to take such a huge cock up my ass straightaway, but he certainly doesn't give a toss, and he immediately starts fucking me hard, sweating and moaning and slobbering on top of me as I try to breathe.  
  
“Ohh…fucking whore!” He's grunting in my ear and saying it again, and now he's pulling my body up and he's got his hand on my cock. It's limp and he doesn't seem to care, but then this isn't about me, is it?  
  
Thank Christ I can't see him, and I certainly don't want to fucking hear him. He sounds nothing like you—his grunts of pleasure don't make me want to come. He doesn't smell like you. His skin doesn't feel like silk under my lips as I kiss your neck and shoulder as you’re on top of me...  
  
From out of nowhere, his cock hits that familiar spot up inside me and I stifle a pained sob. It's not anything like what I've felt with you. It's not the same, but through it all I don't cry out. Even when he comes inside me and it burns, I merely set my jaw and take it like the whore I am.


	18. They'll Never Know

My eyes feel as if they're glued shut and the side of my face is warm and wet from the trail of saliva dribbling from my mouth onto the sheets, and when I try to move on the bed my chest, back and ass throb, not to mention the fact that I feel as if every internal organ has been ripped from my body.  
  
I rub my eyes, pry them open, then immediately scan the room, but not one bloody thing looks familiar: the walls, the furniture, the carpet—nothing.  
  
Brilliant. Another late night piss up that I don't even recall, that is until I move and hear the crinkling of paper underneath my body, and when I pick up the five pound note that's under me everything suddenly comes roaring back into my aching skull. I'm shaking and my hand is clammy as it balls up the note and I groan aloud at just the mere thought of the vague, yet disgusting details of how I ended up here shirtless, cold and with my fly still open.  
  
As I try and sit up, my ass burns and at this point I don't even want to put the note into my jacket pocket. I'd rather burn the fucking thing. I know why it's here and I rub my forehead and groan as I remember what he kept calling me as he jammed his cock up my ass. I swear I can still hear him growling that into my ear and I want to vomit all over again.  
  
I slide off the bed and rummage about on the floor amongst the other random mess and trash strewn about the room until I locate my jacket, and finally, my shirt with a few buttons missing.  
  
“Shit...” I mutter aloud, cough and take a fag out of what's left of my flattened, demolished pack of cigarettes and light one, inhaling sharply.  
  
Just where the fuck am I?  
  
***        ***       ***  
  
Bloody figures I'd end up all the way out here in this shit town. I shake my head and grumble as I realize a fiver isn’t nearly enough for cab fare back to Horley, which would be the only safe way to go.  But as my shit luck would have it, looks as though the only other option is to have the pleasure of walking through one of the dodgiest neighborhoods in the east end of London, in the blooming rain, no less. If I make it to the railway station in one piece I’d be lucky.  
  
“Oi!” I hear a voice from behind through the rain and I flinch. Whoever it is doesn’t sound a bit happy, but I just keep trudging along with my head down and my mouth shut, hoping it’s not me he’s noticed.  
  
“Oi!!!” It’s that same angry voice and there are now more than one set of footsteps closing in behind me. I feel strong hands on my arms pulling me back and then on my jacket, trying to stop me in my tracks, but I struggle and pull myself back in the other direction until I hear the click of a switchblade near my head.  
  
Suppose I won’t be making it to the railway station, after all.  
  
His arms pull me towards him and I hear another bloke beside him laughing evilly and my eyes are starting to well up. I choke back a sob and I thank Christ my back is to them and it’s raining. I’m soaking wet, cold, utterly knackered and I just can’t take it anymore.  
  
“Who the fuck are you?!” The bloke asks. Good question really, as these days I haven't a clue.  
  
“N-nobody.” I say flatly. I just want to be left alone, but he’s got other plans.  
  
“Yeah, fuckin’ right nobody.” He growls, “Never seen this bloke round here, have ya?!” He asks his mate.  
  
“Nope.” His mate says, “What you doin’ coming through here, then?”  
  
I just want to tell them I’m almost at the railway station and from there I’ll be on my way, but it’s obvious they already know where I am. No matter what I tell them it won’t change the fact that this is their bloody turf and I’ve stepped into it.  
  
“I’m... I just--” I try to move but the bloke’s got his arms locked through mine and they’re holding me in place and their both laughing evilly at my pitiful squirming as I try and break free, but it's no use.  
  
“Should we make sure he don’t come round here no more?” The one asks the other, and he’s so close I feel his breath on my ear.  
  
“Right.” Says the other, and then makes the demand I would’ve started out with in the bloody first place.  
  
“Gimme your money!”  
  
“What?!” I say shocked. I clearly heard him, but can’t quite believe this is happening. I want to scream.  
  
“Hand over your cash, shithead,” The one growls, “Or you’re fucking dead!”  
  
My hands are shaking and I dig down in my soaked jacket pocket for the note and fleetingly wonder just how easy it would be to take on these two gits, but when I turn my head I see the glint of the switchblade and think better of it. Knowing my shit luck, the outcome wouldn’t be in my favor.  
  
“Come on!” The other bloke demands, shouting into my ear as I show my hand with the soggy note, “All of it!!!”  
  
I swallow hard, “That-that’s it.” I mutter plainly, “That’s all of it.”  
  
“Stop pissing about!!!” And he squeezes my arms even harder. It fucking hurts.  
  
I don’t answer, and instantly feel hands in my front and back pockets searching for more dosh as I stand there, helplessly immobilized by these two fucking imbeciles. Of course as usual, I’ve got nothing else on me and a rare grin spreads across my face as they come up empty-handed. Reckon they’ve chosen the wrong yob today.  
  
“Fucking hell!” The other numbskull declares loudly, “Ain’t got nothing but a bloody fiver!”  
  
Before I realize what hits me, my head rings from the sharp blow from what I can only guess is a fist, and I fall forward on my hands and knees right into a sodding puddle. I sniff and don’t dare move, cowering there—bracing myself for the next punch, or perhaps the inevitable stab to the ribs, but that doesn’t happen.  
  
They’ve simply vanished.  
  
***      ***      ***  
  
I climb into the warm, dry lorry and before I even get in the seat the older bloke’s eyes are already on me, undressing me, but when I see the flask in his one hand and the joint in the other I couldn't give a toss if he had eight eyes ogling me at once.  
  
He offers me the joint and flask and I gladly take both, inhaling deeply and taking long guzzles of vodka. Thankfully, I feel the fuzziness of the pot and warmth and numbness of the booze almost straightaway, and I take another long drink. My stomach burns from lack of food, but I continue to guzzle as the bloke pulls round to the back of the building.  
  
“How much, then?”  
  
And for a moment I haven’t a clue as to what he’s on about, but then I suddenly remember our brief exchange as I stood at his window in the driving rain. My mouth opens, but the words don't come and I notice his wedding ring as his hand pulls the flask out of my grasp. He asks again.  
  
“How much for a fuck?”  
  
“Umm, I—twenty quid.” I mumble in disbelief at myself.  
  
“ _Twenty?!”_ He asks, almost as if he can’t believe what I'm saying either, but for other reasons, the cheap bastard—as if I should let him fuck me for free.  
  
“Yeah, twenty.” I murmur and reach for his flask that’s sitting in the console.  
  
“No.” He says firmly and knocks my hand away, “Not until you suck me.”  
  
I cringe as those words seem to echo through the cab of the lorry, and he’s already got his trousers open and his dick in his hands. It’s hard and he’s looking right at me as he strokes himself.  
  
“Put that pretty mouth on my cock and suck it.” He demands.  
~~  
~~ I can’t do that. I can’t even look at this huge, old, wrinkly bloke. I know what he really wants. I need to get this over with and the only way is to let him fuck me so he can get off and I can get money for train fare and get the fuck out. I quickly unzip myself and he’s practically salivating as I pull down my jeans to expose my cock. He mumbles something and closes his eyes and keeps stroking his dick, but I have no idea what the fuck he’s saying. I turn round in the seat and face the passenger window and I feel his hands pull my jeans down even further, and they’re on my ass now, squeezing it. My entire body tenses up and I’m shaking with dread as he sighs and moans. It won’t be long now... For a moment I look up, and in the window’s reflection I can’t quite believe the sight I’m seeing: this massive, old pervert with his huge hands on me and his hard-on moving in from behind, ready to fuck me and I quickly look down. I’m going to vomit, and just as I begin to gag, he shoves his cock into my ass and I scream.  
~~  
~~ He’s fucking me and my head keeps banging into the window, but the old pervert doesn’t care and he’s pumping away and I can’t breathe and I’m blubbing shamelessly out loud, which makes him all the more pervy. He starts calling me his pretty little whore and tells me how much he loves fucking my ass, which makes me whimper in pain even more. But then he only keeps talking as he’s ramming his cock into me, saying how boys don’t cry when they get fucked by him, and I wish he’d just shut up. I can’t fucking bear it.  
  
I hear him moan and then growl into my ear as he comes inside me, and there’s a sharp pain in my abdomen and my ass is burning even more. I can’t tell whether I’m drunk or have a fever as my entire body feels hot and I’m delirious, and he suddenly pulls out and I slam face forward into the fucking window.  
  
When I turn round he’s out of breath and slumped down in the seat—at least now he’s finally shut the fuck up. I quickly grab the flask from the console and as I take a long guzzle I feel his come running out of my ass onto the seat beneath me. I smile crookedly in the hopes that it leaves a fucking stain and his wife sits right where my naked ass has been. She deserves every bit of this—after all, she married the fucking pervert. ~~~~  
  
“Where’s my money?” I ask, and take another gulp from the flask, then zip myself up.  
  
“Huh?” The bloke is dazed and hasn’t even recovered, but I don’t give a toss. I want my cash.  
  
“Twenty quid.” I say as firmly as I can, and run a hand through my soaked hair.  
  
“Ha!” He booms, “Fucking seriously?!”  
  
I sit up and look at him now, “Yeah! _Seriously!!!”_ I boom back, and I’m leaning over, practically spitting out those words and I sniff, ready to hock one up right in the bastard’s face.  
  
“Fuck off!!!” He yells and his huge hands are suddenly on my shoulders pushing me back, but I lunge forward and manage to spit at him with what little saliva I have, and he slaps me hard across the face.  
  
“Give me my fucking money, you stupid, fucking bastard!!!” I’m screaming and trying to wrestle this asshole, but it’s no use. He may be old, wrinkly and disgusting, but I’m no match for his size and strength.  
  
“Get the...” And he hits me again, “Get the fuck out of here, you little shit!!!” I see his door opening and he’s dragging me through the lorry across the seats by the scruff of my jacket and I’m writhing, trying to get lose from his huge hands, cursing and screaming as he throws me out, and I land on my back on the ground in the mud.  
  
“You fucker!!!” I scream, “Where’s my money???!!!”  
  
“Here!” The pervert poofter yells, and I feel something hard hit my head briefly, then bounce away, “That’s all your worth, you crazy, fucking whore!”  
  
And before I know it, mud sprays back onto me as the tires spin and the lorry quickly skids away.


	19. They'll Never Know

I’m leaning against the wall of the telephone box hardly able to hold myself up. I’m muddy, soaked, freezing, and my chest is burning, but my face feels hot and I’m sweating. The receiver in my hand is sticky and I try and hold it away from my mouth, but then my mind flashes back to what’s happened over the last day or so and I laugh sarcastically out loud at my own prudishness as I realize I’m even more filthy than this dirty object I hold in my fucking hand—just how many strange cocks have I taken up my ass lately?  
  
I reach into my jacket pocket for my fags, but they’re gone. Dim and his stupid fucking droogie must’ve taken those as well. Fucking brilliant.  
  
The phone keeps ringing and no one’s picking up, but they have to. If no one answers now I won’t have enough change for another call from the measly coin that was tossed at my head earlier. I'm nearly delirious and I need to sit down and although it's getting colder and I can see my breath with each exhale I take, at least it's dry. Maybe I'll just sleep in here for a spell.

  
There’s an unexpected click on the other end of the line and a familiar voice speaks, sounding as if it’s a million miles away.  
  
“Hello?” It’s you.  
  
I freeze.  
  
“Hello???” You say again, and I can barely hear you.

  
“Rob-Robert.” I manage to blurt out.  
  
Silence.  
  
“Robert?” I murmur, and I can feel my body begin to slide down the wall from exhaustion and I’m shaking, but I can’t let you hang up, “Please…” I whimper into the receiver and my hand grabs onto the small shelf in front of me for support.  
  
“Simon?” You’re clearly shocked that it’s me on the other end of the phone and you fall silent again.  
  
“Robert,” I’m becoming more breathless with each passing syllable I utter, but I need you, “Please...” I lick my dry lips and continue to blather, hoping to convince you to somehow stay on the line, “Help me, please. I-I’m… I don’t know what’s—” I sob, “I’m not—”  
  
“Si?” You ask softly and I don’t answer. I can’t. You clear your throat and say my name again, this time more firmly, “Simon, where are you?”  
  
***      ***      ***  
  
I don’t remember a thing after I hung up with you other than being totally knackered and settling down for a kip right there on the floor of the phone box. I’m bloody shocked I could even articulate where the hell I was, but you managed to find me. I don’t remember much of the journey back home either, except for when I’d asked you to turn up the heat in the car and when my eyes fluttered open occasionally to watch your face as you drove, noticing your eyes and the way they glanced over at me when we were stopped in traffic. I honestly didn’t want that drive to end. I just wanted to sit there and watch you as if I wasn’t even there.  
  
Now I’m here in my own bedroom and if it wasn’t for you I’m almost certain I wouldn’t have made it back alive. Wish I could thank you properly for dragging my pitiful arse literally out of the gutter, but I’m so out of it I can’t do a thing but lie back on my bed and mumble nonsense. I feel your hands pulling off my boots and then my clothes, but when you reach for the button on the front of my jeans I immediately jerk my body away and turn to the side.  
  
I can’t let those hands— _your hands_ ­—touch me. Not after where I’ve been. I won’t let you do that.  
  
“Simon, let me.” You insist quietly, “You have to get these off and get into bed.”  
  
I try to swat your hand away, but you’re not having any of it. You succeed in undoing them anyway, and I whimper and mumble again, incoherently. You must think I’ve lost my mind. You peel the soaked denim from my body and I soon feel the covers being pulled up over me and I’m fighting against my closing eyes as I’m finally beginning to pass out from exhaustion.  
  
“Rob.” I murmur, and you stop moving at the sound of my voice. It’s the first actual word I’ve uttered since you found me, “Cold…” Is the only other thing I can manage to say and it’s the truth. Why is it so sodding freezing in here?  
  
You immediately turn towards the wardrobe and fish out another blanket to cover me, and I watch as you snug the bedding round my shivering body. You sit down beside me on the bed and I feel your hand on my forehead.  
  
“You’ve a fever, I think.” You say in almost a whisper.  
  
That’s fair enough after the last sixteen hours I’ve had; falling into dumpsters, getting annihilated, vomiting endlessly, no food, getting mugged and beaten on out in the cold rain, having sex with random asshole-perverts and getting thrown out of lorries into the mud, but I really don’t even give a shit about all that business now. I just want you to stay. I just feel safe when you're with me, I suppose.  
  
“Don't go.” I finally croak. I’m fucking begging you and my throat and chest are burning and when I open my eyes again, you’re staring at me and I feel like such an utter wanker saying that after all you’ve done.  
  
"Si..." You call me by that name you've always called me in the past when it was just you and I, when everything was different. Everything is different once again now though, isn't it?

There’s just a hint of a small, sad smile on your face and I’m trying not to start to blub. Wish I could reach out and touch you.

“...I-I’m just going to see if you’ve any aspirin. I'll only be a moment.” You say softly.  
  
And I feel my eyes flutter, they’re struggling to stay open as I watch you walk out of the room, and darkness surrounds me as they begin to close.  
  
***       ***       ***

“Hey,” It’s your voice.   
  
You’ve stayed?   
  
“How are you feeling?” You ask.  
  
My eyes open and I look up and you’re standing over the bed with that same sad smile and those eyes— they've pulled me in once again. I want to tell you how amazing you are, but you’d probably laugh and shrug it off as a delirious muttering. One of many I’ve had today, no doubt.  
  
“I-how long ha-have you been hanging about?” I breathe.  
  
“Most of the afternoon. I’ve been downstairs watching the telly with Duncan.”  
  
Mum and Dad are out of town on holiday, so he probably came round to mooch food and to leave his dirty washing again as usual. Suppose I'm no better really, only difference is they still let me sleep here.  
  
“What-what’d he say?” I ask, terrified. This doesn't need to get back to Mum and Dad. I don't need another buggery lecture from them.  
  
“Nothing much, just wanted to know what happened and if you were going to be alright. He's gone home now.”  
  
My entire body tenses and my head begins to pound as you continue on.  
  
“I just said you and I had been out to London and you fell ill suddenly—a nasty stomach thing… Ready for another round?” You ask, holding out two tabs of aspirin and a glass of water under my nose.  
  
Well, it’s not that far off the mark, is it? Though, you’ve left out the mass quantities of illicit drugs, alcohol, blow jobs and ass fucking.  
  
“Thank you.” I whisper and look away.

You chuckle your breathy chuckle, “Yeah, you seemed pretty out of it. Must’ve been some night, eh?”  
  
I swallow and my throat burns, “Yeah.” I say flatly and avoid your stare. I don’t think I could ever tell you what’s happened and I know you're waiting for that, but I don’t want this to go there, so I change the subject.  
  
“Will you stay with me some more?” I ask weakly and I sit up on the pillows. I take a sip of water to wash down the pills and this time when I look at you, your eyes are welling up and I just can’t take it. I know you and I'm certain that just from the way you're looking at me you have an inkling as to what’s happened—of what I’ve done to myself—but I really don’t want to find that out, and being the clever bloke that you are, I think you know that.  
  
“Yes.” Is all you say quietly, and you settle on the bed next to me facing my body. I feel your head on my shoulder and I can hear your steady, familiar breathing up against me and I sigh out loud with relief as your arm drapes over my waist.  
  
I'm warm at last.


	20. They'll Never Know

I realize when I finally wake up and crack open my swollen eyes that it’s now dark. How long have I been out for? I no longer feel the weight of your head resting on my shoulder and for some reason I begin to panic. I’m all alone. I call your name out into the darkness.  
  
“Robert?”  
  
You don’t answer, and now I hear voices downstairs. I throw the covers aside and fumble for the lamp on the bedside table. The light makes me squint and I glance round the room looking for my jeans and shirt and notice your clothes are also strewn about the floor near the bed, intermingled with my damp muddy ones. My head begins to ache as I’m now faced with the task of rifling through my wardrobe to find fresh togs. Sod it. That’ll take too long.  
  
I crawl out of bed and make it to the landing just before the stairs in my shorts, and that's when I hear Mum in the foyer and I stop dead.  
  
“Well, it-it was nice of you to stay with Simon.” She says, though there’s a peculiar tone in her voice.  
  
As I peer down into the space, the floorboards creak below my feet and every head turns up to meet me as I stand there with my mouth open like some knob, clearly eavesdropping,  
  
All eyes are on me so I’d better make this good.  
  
“I-I didn’t know you’d-you’d be back so soon.” I stammer. What the fuck is my problem? I feel guilty over nothing, but when I look at you standing amidst my parents in just your shorts as well, I know they think this is more than nothing.  
  
“Simon.” Mum continues, “I said we’d be back today—Sunday, remember?”  
  
No, I bloody well don’t.  
  
“Oh.” I breathe—so much for having something clever to say.  
  
“Well,” She says and looks over at you and clears her throat, “It was nice of Robert to stay and help you. Are you feeling better, love?”  
  
I nod my head and look over at Dad and he remains silent as ever, but his harsh glare makes me shift on my feet once more and I clear my throat. I don’t know how in blazes this could be any more fucking awkward. Maybe this sort of thing with a bloke and his best mate prancing about in their skivvies is acceptable everywhere else, but not in this neck of the woods. And of course, being the type of bloke that you are—not giving a rat’s arse and neither confirming or denying anything—you have no problem adding casually, “Right, I’ll get my things from your bedroom.”  
  
Fuck.  
  
As you walk past me with your head down and climb the stairs, Dad steps forward and closes in, “Peg, I'll get the bags in a minute, go on.” He tells her, and she quickly leaves the room. She knows what’s in store for me.  
  
“Listen, Simon.” Oh, here we bloody go. I can see the anger in his face and hear the frustration in his voice as he confronts me, “I don’t know how long this has been going on—whatever _this_ is—between the two of you.” He takes a breath, “It’s your business and your life, but I will tell you one thing: I don’t want it in my house. Do we understand each other?!” I don't answer and I just can't look at him right now. I don't want to see the disappointment on his face. I'm lucky he hasn't kicked me out and that's only because he probably realizes I'd have nowhere to go if he did.  
  
Carol and I have messed about in my room, even in the living room on one occasion. I’m fairly certain they’ve heard us and no one's batted an eye at that, but I know that’s not why he’s upset. It has nothing to do with Carol and what we've done. It's clearly everything to do with you and I and what we've been doing, but he doesn't know the half of it. He has no bloody idea what I’ve been up to otherwise, does he? Wonder what he would say if I told him that you were just the tip of the iceberg? I wonder what he'd think if I told him about my latest debacle? I close my eyes, shake my head and quickly push that shit idea from my mind. If he knew I got nothing more than spare change flung at my head I reckon he really would end up throwing me out, and rightly so. In addition to being unemployed, having no aspirations and no bird, apparently I'm an utter failure at whoring myself out to pervert-wankers for cash as well.  
  
It's all gone tits up for me now. It won't matter if I tell him he's dead wrong in this particular instance about us here last night, and I weakly start to tell him so, but I don't get that chance—his mind's made up.  
  
“I-I’m not-we weren’t—”I flounder.  
  
“Simon, _stop_. I know what’s been going on.” His teeth are clenched, he's trying to keep his voice down—I reckon so you won't hear, but why do I think you just won't care, anyway? He continues on, his voice growing more strained, “I’ve seen the both of you... downstairs. We’ve heard things. Your mother and I don’t want this in our house. Take it somewhere else. That’s final!”  
  
And there it is. I’ve always had a suspicion he’d seen us in my brother’s bed the next morning after you first fucked me. And of course, the night you had me up against the wall and then again in my bed soon after. Who knows when they arrived home, and when they did I'm almost certain they heard us. We weren't exactly quiet about any of it. Not to mention you nearly strangling me. How utterly, fucking charming.  
  
“O-okay. Sorry, Dad.” I whisper. There’s nothing else to say and I swallow hard. I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach.  
  
I hear shuffling on the stairs and before I realize it, you’ve come back down fully dressed. I look up at you quickly and catch sight of your rumpled clothes, your messy hair and then your eyes and I can’t help but watch, captivated, as a tiny, mischievous grin spreads across your face.  
  
“You look like you’re feeling much better.” You say calmly, dismissing my father completely, as if we were the only two blokes on the planet standing there together, and then from out of nowhere your hand comes up and caresses my cheek, “I’ll call you…” You whisper, and your hand continues to move slowly over my skin and down my neck, finally squeezing my shoulder. I jump back and gulp in astonishment, but then I remember—it’s you, and you don’t give a rat’s arse, do you?  
  
I don’t say a word and I can’t understand why I feel like fucking laughing out loud at a time like this. Perhaps it's because I know you all too well and either you just don't give a toss, you'd been listening, or both. I try and hide my laughter with a cough and as I turn round to close the door behind you, a small grin slowly spreads across my face as well.  
  
I've missed you.  
  
**THE END**


End file.
